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PHAROS 


ELLERY H. CLARK 

A icthor of 

“Loaded Dice,” “The Carlton Case,” 

A 


''‘If I ever did a man any good in their sense ^ of course 
it was something exceptional and insignificant compared 
with the good or evil I am constantly doing by being what 
lam." 

Thoreau, 



RICHARD G. BADGER 

Wyi ©orfiam 
BOSTON 


Copyright, 1913, by Richard G. Badger 


All Rights Reserved 



The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 


©CI.A357074 


TO 

V. M. C. 



CONTENTS 


PAGE 


CHAPTER 

I The Natives 7 

II The Summer Colony .... 43 

III Billy Whitfield Reveals the Ex- 

istence OF A Mystery .... 69 

IV Staunton Whitfield Plans to do 

THE Public Good 104 

V Billy Mingles with the Natives . 138 
VI Billy Continues to Mingle . . 169 

VII Tom Nickerson Gets a Straight 

Tip 195 

VIII Showing the Uncertainty of 

Things in General .... 226 

IX Bayport Elects a Selectman . .257 

X A Difference of Opinion . . . 276 

XI Nat Rogers Makes Up his Mind . 295 

XII Staunton Whitfield Resorts to 

First Principles 318 

XIII The Wages of Sin 347 

XIV Pharos 368 


PHAROS 


CHAPTER I 

THE NATIVES 

T he year was nineteen hundred and 
seven; the month, November; the 
time, late afternoon. Daylight was 
fading; nightfall, like some stealthy shadow, 
came creeping in from sea. Yet in Bayport 
Harbor, all was bustle and excitement, for the 
herring, despaired of and long overdue, had 
struck at last. 

Straight in from sea they came, on the sweep 
of the flooding tide ; converging gradually from 
east and west, until at length, from the Spindle 
to Whitehead, the narrow depths of the chan- 
nel gleamed suddenly alive with glitter and 
flash of silvery flame. By tens and hundreds 
and thousands the current bore them onward. 


7 


8 


PHAROS 


until the harbor’s mouth was reached; there, 
again dividing, they dashed away In all direc- 
tions, now out by the lobster cars, now to the 
right by the float stage and to the left by the 
wharves, now Inland toward the cove. Behind 
them, a wake of swirling ripples marked their 
trail; while here and there, as the harbor shal- 
lowed, they broke the water, churning It to foam, 
or splashing It skyward, in glistening showers 
of feathery spray. 

Over the whole aspect of the afternoon hov- 
ered something unrestful and vaguely mena- 
cing. The sun, now nearing the horizon, 
seemed to hang suspended, a motionless red disc, 
standing grimly out against the lowering lee set, 
fast gathering In the western sky. Around the 
edges of the harbor, the white cottages stood si- 
lent and still, each reflected to the very life in 
the smooth, clear mirror of the water’s calm. 
From the steeple of the old church on the vil- 
lage green, the deep tones of the town clock, 
striking the hour of four, boomed inland 
toward the shadow of the Beechwoods, rever- 
berating with solemn Insistence; then sweeping 


THE NATIVES 


9 


outboard, at length died away amid the mighty 
silences of the open sea. Yet as the echoes 
ceased, the smallest sounds still came to the ear 
with a distinctness portentous and unreal. The 
shrill voices of the children trooping out from 
school, the hammering of the carpenters, at 
work upon some distant barn, the monotonous, 
re-iterant putt-putt-putt-putt-putt of a belated 
power boat far out from shore — all spoke with 
a strength and significance beyond their own. 
From the hills above the village, a flicker’s bold 
call, and the scream of a bluejay, came floating 
down, sharp and clear, from the shelter of the 
wooded slopes, where scarlet and gold were 
blended now to a somber russet brown; while 
here and there through the dropping leaves the 
dark green pines stood forth like faithful senti- 
nels, giving mute warning that summer, her 
glory ended, was now at last, in one brief final 
battle, to be stripped and shorn of all her brave 
show of strength, before the first wild, whirl- 
ing gusts of the great November gales. 

Beyond the harbor, to the right, the brown 
of the marsh swept in a broad half moon toward 


lO 


PHAROS 


Southeast point, where the tall black spindle 
marked the channel’s bank. Across, to the left, 
beyond the swiftly flowing eddies, loomed old 
Whitehead, huge and grim, towering sheer and 
stark, two hundred feet from sea-girt base to 
wind-swept pinnacle, looking far out over the 
broad blue waters of the Atlantic to where, 
along the distant horizon, sea and sky met to- 
gether in a gray and brooding mist, seeming to 
beckon even as it repelled, to warn and yet to 
lure, with all the charm and mystery of the broad 
ocean’s everlasting spell — the ancient, world- 
old longing — the mighty magic of the eternal 
sea. 

Below the big rock, looking down, for some 
three miles to the eastward, and for an even 
greater distance along the shore, lay scattered 
the treacherous reefs which in years gone by had 
given to the coast its evil name for shipwreck 
and disaster. At high tide, scarcely a dozen or 
so of the largest would rear their massive heads 
above the sea, yet now, at the young flood, full 
forty of them showed from the westward down, 
like some brood of giant reptiles, creeping 


THE NATIVES 


II 


stealthily forth, at the approach of night. Ugly 
and sinister, dark with floating kelp and cling- 
ing rockweed, they lurked there in the twilight; 
outposts difliicult of conquest, guarding from the 
angry sea the mainland which lay beyond, rock- 
bound as well, but ever and again broken with 
long, peaceful stretches of marsh and meadow, 
and beaches of pebbles or of smooth white sand. 
And still, above them all, old Whitehead gazed 
out beyond the distant ledges, to where the great 
stone lighthouse reared itself from the sunken 
reef, taking up each night the task the wearied 
sun laid down, and flashing through the dark- 
ness, on its broad and luminous rays, its mes- 
sage of safety and good cheer, alike to ocean 
liner and hardy fisherman, to pilot boat and 
tug, to tramp and coaster, even to brave, adven- 
turous little power boats, poised hovering on the 
crests of the huge Atlantic swell, careless of 
danger as the stormy petrels that skimmed and 
circled in their wake. 

In by the float stage, Tom Nickerson, clad in 
oilskins, rubber boots and sou’wester, rose from 


12 


PHAROS 


his seat In the stern of his dory, laid aside the 
dip net he had been mending, and with a shake 
of his big shoulders stretched himself leisurely 
to his full height, and stood erect, a brawny and 
stalwart figure, sweeping sky and sea with the 
keen glance of a critical and experienced eye. 

“ H’m,” he muttered at last, with questioning 
lip and wrinkled brow; then, raising his voice, 
he called, “ Man’l — Joe — come up here I 
Let’s see what you make of things.” 

Forthwith, his two mates emerged from the 
cabin. Both were dark and swarthy Portuguese ; 
Manuel short, stout and smiling; Joe tall, thin 
and grave. Both were thorough seamen, re- 
nowned alike for their courage and their skill. 
Neither was given to boasting, either of past or 
future exploits, but seeing certain things before 
them, waiting to be done, they did them, simply, 
deftly, and without display; In every sense 
and meaning of the term, men of action, and 
not of words. 

Each In turn swept the horizon, as Nick- 
erson had done, hesitating long and discerningly 
in their study of ripple, swell and cloud. Man- 


THE NATIVES 13 

uel was the first to speak. “ How’s th’ glass? ” 
he asked. 

‘‘She’s dropping,” Nickerson answered; 
“ been dropping ever since noon. Twenty-nine 
and eight-tenths, now.” 

Manuel shrugged his shoulders. “ Looks 
easterly,” he pronounced at length; “ looks like 
we might have a rip-snorter from the no’th- 
east. Pretty quick, too. Ain’t that right, 
Joe?” 

Joe waved his hand toward the already dark- 
ening west. “Easterly,” he assented; “that’s 
what that lee set means. Easterly, sure. Hell 
of a blow.” 

Nickerson nodded. “ That’s what I 
thought,” he said. “ Guess we’d better get 
started, right away. How’s the engine? ” 

“Coin’ fine,” Manuel answered; “fires first 
crack, every time. She never was goin’ as good 
as now. But then — ” he added, more cau- 
tiously, “ I ain’t braggin’ none, at that. En- 
gines is like women. You can’t never be sure 
of ’em.” 

Joe grinned appreciatively, but Nickerson, 


PHAROS 


14 

though he smiled, did so only out of compli- 
ment to Manuel’s joke. For one woman, he 
reflected, he could be sure of ; one woman would 
be true to him, through joy and sorrow, all his 
life long; and at the thought of her, he drew 
his watch from his pocket, and under pretense 
of seeking for the time, snapped it open, to look 
once more at the picture of the girl who smiled 
up at him, holding her baby in her arms. And 
as he gazed, suddenly, in place of the harbor, 
the boats, and the lowering sky, he saw, instead, 
the tiny, low-studded kitchen of his home, the 
mellow lamplight flooding the room, and at the 
window, the faces of his wife and of his baby 
boy, watching through the darkness for his re- 
turn. With a quick catch of his breath, he 
thrust his time-piece back into his pocket, and 
half ashamed, turned quickly to his comrades. 
“How’s the torch, Joe?” he asked. 

“ Oh, torch is all right,” Joe answered. He 
spoke with confidence, for the preparation of 
the light which was to draw the bewildered 
herring in shoals about their bow, was some- 
thing of a specialty with him. “ Torch’ll go,” 


THE NATIVES 


IS 

he repeated; “you don’t have to worry none 
about that. If Man’l makes th’ engine act as 
good as the torch does, he’ll be doin’ well.” 

“ Then I guess we’re ready,” rejoined Nick- 
erson; “engine’s all right; torch Is all right; 
and I’ve fixed the net as good as new. Which’ll 
It be now, Man’l — harbor or channel? ” 

Manuel gazed thoughtfully out at the lobster 
cars, and the score of boats which lay grouped 
around them, waiting for darkness to fall. 
Two thirds of them were their own rivals from 
the village, the rest the big, high-bowed Italian 
dories, whose skippers, In some mysterious way, 
had learned of the coming of the herring, and 
had hastened down from the city, eager for 
their share of the spoils. The scene was a 
lively one ; Americans, Irish and Portuguese, usu- 
ally sufficiently concerned with their own rival- 
ries, now joined In a common cause, and waging 
a good-natured battle of words with their brlght- 
jerseyed, gesticulating invaders. 

Even as they looked, old Frank Antoine, 
Manuel’s father, still active and vigorous In 
spite of his seventy years, leaped on the house 


i6 PHAROS 

of his dory, brandishing his dip net in pretended 
rage. “ Jesu Christa Maria,” he shrieked, 
“ we no want you spoil our feesh. We no want 
you dagoes come. You getta to hell out o’ 
here!” 

Laughter, shouts of applause, and immediate 
and eloquent counter attack followed his 
words. Manuel gave Nickerson a shrewd 
glance. 

“ Harbor looks the best,” he said slowly. 
“ but those fellers’ll stick to each other now, 
just out o’ deviltry, an’ that’ll split up the fishing. 
Fifteen or twenty boats is all the harbor’s going 
to stand, anyhow. We better take the channel, 
till the tide slacks, an’ then, if we’re lucky, we 
can out lights an’ slip for town the first o’ the 
bunch. Hey, Joe?” 

Joe nodded in silence, and Nickerson, well 
aware of the value of their counsel, with a shove 
of his foot pushed the dory’s head toward mid- 
stream. At the action, Joe, without a word, 
went forward, and Manuel dived down into the 
cabin. 

“ All right below? ” called Tom. 


THE NATIVES 


17 

“All right below,” echoed Manuel; “all 
clear?” 

“ All clear,” came the answer, “ let her go,” 
and true to Manuel’s boast, at the first turn of 
the wheel, the engine caught quick and true, the 
propeller churned the shallow water into foam, 
and a moment later, forcing their way against 
the current of the stream, they had left the har- 
bor behind. 

And now the sun, though still clear of the 
horizon, had sunk below the line of trees which 
fringed the channel’s bank, and the mass of dull 
gray clouds, creeping in from the eastward, 
seemed to give promise that the interval between 
sunset and dark would be but of the briefest. 
Manuel, coming again on deck, stood gazing, 
now at the sky, now at the ever-blackening sur- 
face of the water. Suddenly, with quick de- 
cision, he turned to Nickerson. “ All right,” he 
said, “ light her up, Joe.” 

Under the shelter of the house, Joe turned 
the torch upside down, until the wick was sat- 
urated and dripping with oil; then deftly lit a 
match, and in an instant the whole scene about 


i8 


PHAROS 


them was changed. The dim outline of shore 
and sea and sky was blotted out as one would 
snuff a candle, and all to be seen in the dazzling 
brilliance of the crackling flame, was the boat 
itself, and the black water, flecked with foam, 
streaming past, like a mill race, on either hand. 
Then fell silence, deep and unbroken, save for 
the steady, throbbing rhythm of the pulsing en- 
gine. Nickerson, at the tiller, peered tensely 
forward into the darkness, as he sought to fol- 
low each turn and twist of the narrow channel. 
Far up in the bow, Joe, feet braced like a rock 
against the curve of the house, stood motionless 
as a statue, holding the torch so that its light 
fell always full and clear upon the flying water. 
Manuel sat amidships, dip net in hand, crouched 
like a tiger for his spring, rigid and expectant; 
now and again, without turning his head, calling 
out to one or the other of his mates a sharp, 
quick word of command. 

Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed. Then 
Nickerson, jamming his helm hard down, swung 
the dory in a wide half circle, and pointed her 
bow for home. Far ahead of them, like a 


THE NATIVES 


19 

swarm of giant fire-flies, a score of gleaming 
lights flashed and floated in the gloom; and 
from the distance the shouts and cries of the 
fishermen came faintly to their ears. To them- 
selves they seemed strangely outcast, isolated 
and forlorn. Just for a moment, Manuel 
straightened up, and rubbed his aching, smoke- 
blinded eyes with a stiffened hand. Then, with 
wrinkled forehead, he turned, and with the phi- 
losophy of the man of many successes, and many 
disappointments as well, gazed half humorously 
at Nickerson. “ Damn,” he said, simply and 
inclusively, and turned again to his task. 

Part way back to the harbor, moody and de- 
pressed, they had made their way; when sud- 
denly there came a half-imperceptible move- 
ment from Manuel, and on the instant Nicker- 
son felt, rather than saw or knew, that the fish 
were near. Cautiously Manuel extended the 
net, plunged it deep into the water, and the 
next moment, as he dragged it inboard, the bot- 
tom of the boat gleamed suddenly alive with the 
silver of the leaping herring. 

And then, and then only, the real work of 


20 


PHAROS 


the night began. On and on they toiled, Man- 
uel bailing until the cramped muscles in his 
sturdy arms failed him, and he was forced to 
give way to Joe, and Joe, in turn, to Nickerson. 
Steadily the dory settled deeper and deeper in 
the water, as their glittering cargo was piled 
higher and higher still. Always the torch 
flared, always the engine throbbed, and every- 
where the glistening scales of the fish flew hither 
and thither, covering boat and fishermen alike, 
as with armor of silver mail. 

Twice only did they pause from their toil. 
Once when Manuel, finding the torch harder 
and harder to control, and feeling the wind puff 
fresh and cool against his face, pointed for a 
moment to the eastward, where even in the 
blackness they could see the line of crested 
breakers driving in across the bay. “ Breezing 
on I Breezing all the time ! ” he called, and the 
others, too spent for words, nodded in mute 
assent. Again, an hour later, a dim, black 
shape crossed their bow in the darkness, and for 
a moment the mellow chant of foreign voices 
struck pleasantly on their ears. Joe, crouched 


THE NATIVES 


21 


in the stern, rose quickly to his feet “ SIngIn’,” 
he observed; ‘‘them damned Eyetallans are 
feelln’ good. Got a load and bound for 
home.” 

Nickerson nodded. “ They’re lucky,” he 
said; “It can’t be more’n ten o’clock, now. 
Give us another hour, though, and we’ll be after 
em. 

Once more they fell to their task. Steadily, 
as the minutes passed, the work grew more and 
more difficult of accomplishment. The rising 
wind flared the torch like some flaming comet; 
even In the channel, the water grew rough and 
choppy, each new oncoming wave slapping more 
spitefully than the last against the dory’s side. 
Once, half an hour later, they lost the fish al- 
together; then, with the turning of the tide, they 
found them again; and finally, at half past 
eleven, the boat was full, every inch of stand- 
ing room chock-a-block and running over. 

Through the darkness came a sudden hall, and 
a rough voice called, “ Goln’ to try It? ” 

“ Bill Collier,” said Nickerson, under his 
breath. 


22 


PHAROS 


“ Sure,” he shouted back, “ guess we can 
make it, can’t we? ” 

A moment’s silence ; then from Collier’s dory, 
“ Don’t believe it. None o’ the others are 
goin’ to start. It’ll be pretty nasty outside. 
Better hold on till mornin’.” 

With a downward sweep of his arm, Nicker- 
son extinguished the hissing torch. “ Here’s 
our chance,” he cried; “ herring two and a half 
a barrel, and only one boat ahead of us. We’ve 
got to make it,” and with the word he put the 
dory’s head for the open sea. 

Once fairly out of the channel, however, the 
veriest landsman could have seen at a glance 
that the night promised to be a wild one. Even 
though they were still protected from the full 
sweep of the waves by the shelter of Gull Ledge, 
the sea had a short, ugly chop; the wind, no 
longer coming In gusts, now blew steadily and 
with ever-increasing force; above them, the fly- 
ing cloud-rack, sweeping straight in from the 
eastward, passed low overhead, and when the 
lighthouse flashed, the spot where each reef and 
ledge should have been, showed white in a 


THE NATIVES 


23 


smother of churning foam and dashing spray. 

Instinctively the three looked at one another. 
Joe raised his eyebrows. “ Bad,” he said 
shortly, with compressed lips. Manuel nodded. 
“ Bad,” he agreed, “ but like as not they’ll be 
three dollars a barrel in the morning, and 
they’ll drop like a shot when the crowd gets 
In. What think, Tom?” 

Once more, before replying, Nickerson 
glanced long and earnestly at the ragged sky- 
line and the field of leaping white crests, spring- 
ing up far to the northeast of them. He 
knew, as well as his mates, that a thirty foot 
dory Is no ocean liner, and that twenty barrels 
of herring will never help her in her struggle 
to rise to that chance sea which may come roar- 
ing down, towering higher and higher as It 
gathers Impetus, a solid wall of translucent 
green, with the white curl of foam above. All 
this he knew, and yet deep within him some 
strange feeling stirred, and remorselessly 
spurred him on. Not the thought of the 
money they would gain, welcome enough as 
the just reward of their toil, but something so 


24 


PHAROS 


far deeper that he never stopped to analyze it, 
and would perhaps not have recognized it, if 
he had — the old, old spirit of his Norse fore- 
fathers, the ancient, elemental warfare of man 
the sailor, man the voyager, against the 
mighty anger of the cruel sea. His lips tight- 
ened, and his nostrils expanded like those of 
an animal; but when he spoke, it was quietly 
enough, and without bravado, as one who wel- 
comes the fight, yet knows his foreman’s worth. 
“ We’ll run lier up under the point,” he said, 
“ stop at the shanty, and fill the tank; and then 
we’ll head her nor’-nor’-west, and let her 
go.” 

Up under the lee of the point they made 
their way, until their bow grounded sharply 
against the slope of the steep pebble ridge. 
Dimly, a stone’s throw up the beach, they could 
see the outline of Nickerson’s home, and the 
skipper, relinquishing his hold on the tiller, 
made his way forward, and leaped ashore. As 
his feet struck the shingle of the beach, he 
turned. “ I won’t be but a minute,” he called; 
“ we’ll feel safer with extra cans aboard. 


THE NATIVES 


25 


Don’t want to have our gasolene give out, no 
matter what happens,” and an instant later, 
his form had vanished in the darkness. 

Manuel turned to Joe. “ I reckon ’tain’t so 
much th’ gasolene,” he observed, “ as wantin’ 
to see how th’ family’s gettin’ along. He ain’t 
been home since noon.” He paused, chuck- 
ling reminiscently. “ An’ that’s the way it 
goes,” he added. “ I was like that onct, when 
I was married fust. An’ my ol’ woman, too; 
I believe she was wuss’n me. But nowadays 
— Gee, she wouldn’t care if I never came back. 
Guess more’n likely she’d be glad of it. An’ 
that’s the way it goes.” 

“Yes, you’re dead right, Man’l,” Joe as- 
sented; “it’s kind 0’ funny, ain’t it? An’ the 
same with the kids, too. What a lot a feller 
thinks o’ the fust one. An’ then, when they 
keep a cornin’ an’ a cornin’, why, it seems like 
they’d eat you out o’ house an’ home, an’ as if 
they actually wore their does through o’ pur- 
pose. An’ fresh, too. Soon as they start 
growin’ up, they fergit all about their old dad, 
that used to walk ’em up an’ down, nights, in 


26 


PHAROS 


his bare feet, with nothin’ but his ni’gown on; 
an’ if you say anythin’ to ’em they don’t like, 
why, they’ll up an’ sass you, right to your face. 
Yes, sir, It’s funny. You wait another three or 
four years, an’ you won’t find Tom worryin’ so 
’bout his family. Anyway, there’s nothin’ to 
be scared of to-night. The old man’s home. 
Reckon he can take care o’ Edie an’ the kid.” 

At the mention of Jim Nickerson’s name, 
Manuel, perhaps merely by coincidence, spat 
vigorously over the rail. “ Hell ! ” he re- 
joined, “ I reckon the old man could take care 
o’ anythin’. Ain’t he the cuss, though? As 
long as he kep’ workin’, he warn’t so bad, but 
sence he got too old to fish, seems like he just 
naturally takes delight in rubbln’ folks the 
wrong way. Sets an’ reads them discouragin’ 
ol’ books o’ his, an’ then comes around an’ ex- 
plains to a feller how the Bible’s all a He, an’ 
there ain’t no Heaven, an’ life’s nothin’ but a 
mean, miserable cheat. Actually, there ain’t 
no standin’ him. It’s curious, too, ain’t It, 
when you come to think of It, that Tom should 
be a son of his? ” 


THE NATIVES 


27 

“ Certainly is,” Joe agreed; “ Tom’s a good 
square feller, right through. He’s all for doin’ 
right by folks, Tom Is. Kind o’ strange, 
though, how Edie come to marry him. I 
should sort o’ thought she’d a hitched up with 
some younger feller, ’stead o’ Tom.” 

“ Oh, I don’t know,” Manuel rejoined, “ he 
ain’t so old.” 

“ Well, maybe not,” retorted Joe, “ but he 
ain’t so damn young, neither. I s’pose Tom’s 
thirty-five, anyway, an’ Edie ain’t a day more’n 
twenty. An’ that’s some difference, Man’l, 
now I can tell you.” 

“ Yes,” Manuel acknowledged, “ I s’pose 
’tis; but it don’t make no odds, Joe. If a fel- 
ler an’ a girl loves each other, they’ll git along 
all right, an’ I reckon Tom an’ Edie married 
for love, an’ nothin’ else. Far as Tom’s con- 
cerned, I c’n answer for him, an’ I guess ’twas 
the same with the girl, too. Leastways,” he 
added humorously, “ I’m mighty sure o’ one 
thing. She didn’t marry him for his money.” 

“No,” Joe assented, “I reckon not; Tom 
ain’t got none too much cash. An’ still he’s 


28 


PHAROS 


what you might call a risin’ man, for all that. 
He’ll be ’lected S’lectman, at March meetin’, 
sure as shootin’, an’ you’ll find lots o’ folks’ll 
tell you he won’t stop there, neither. I guess 
Edie took all that into c’nsideration, when she 
married him. It’s better to have a solid fel- 
ler like Tom for a husband than one o’ these 
young chaps that parts his hair in the middle, 
’n’ uses cologne, ’n’s afraid o’ dirtyin’ his hands. 
Anyway, she didn’t marry him for lack o’ 
chances. I s’pose no girl on the shore ever had 
more beaus ’n she did. She’s certainly hand- 
some; there’s no denyin’ it.” 

“ Yes, she’s a pretty girl,” Manuel answered, 
“ a mighty pretty girl,” and having thus ex- 
hausted the subject, they sat silent, with no 
sound to be heard about them save the lapping 
of the waves along the beach, the rushing wind, 
and the tumult of the storm. 

In the meantime, Nickerson had reached the 
house, and closed the kitchen door behind him. 
The fire was still burning In the stove, his sup- 
per was ready for him on the table, but Edith 
herself had evidently grown tired of waiting. 


THE NATIVES 


29 


for her chair was empty, the room deserted. 
Yet not quite deserted, either, for presently, 
from their basket behind the stove, two brown 
and white spaniel puppies crept sleepily forth, 
and with a great wagging of tails came whim- 
pering across the floor to greet him. Nicker- 
son stooped, picked them up, one in either 
hand, caressed them for a moment, and then 
gently put them down again. “ Well, Em- 
peror; well. Fluffy,” he whispered, “late hours 
for small dogs. You better get to bed again,” 
but the pups, now thoroughly awakened, 
shook themselves vigorously, and under a mis- 
taken impression that it was morning, began 
to tumble hilariously about the floor. 

Nickerson, looking back at them with a 
smile, made his way toward the bedroom. His 
wife roused herself sleepily to ask, “ Did you 
have good luck? ” then, as he bent to kiss her, 
she suddenly drew back. “Oh, Tom,^ she 
cried, “ do get away from me. Why, you’re 
dripping wet. Can’t you remember to leave 
your things in the kitchen ? ” 

Nickerson good-humoredly retreated to the 


PHAROS 


30 

center of the room. “ Haven’t time to get 
dry, Edith,” he responded, “ an’ ’twouldn’t do 
me any good if I had. I’ll be wetter’n this 
’fore morning. We’ve got a load, an’ bound 
to town with ’em. I’ll be back to-morrow, 
sometime. Thought I’d stop and let you 
know.” 

Edith Nickerson nestled down again luxu- 
riously among the pillows. “ All right,” she 
answered; “ take care of yourself, Tom.” But 
as she listened to the fury of the storm, she 
added quickly, “ Ought you to try it? Isn’t it 
blowing too hard to go? ” 

Nickerson smiled grimly. “ Well, it ain’t 
what you’d call calm,^ he answered, “ but I 
guess we’ll make it, somehow. I’ve got 
Man’l and Joe with me, so we ought to get by.” 

As he spoke, he started, as quietly as heavy 
boots and crackling oilskins would permit, 
toward the crib across the room. “ Boy all 
right, Edith?” he asked. 

“Yes, he’s fine,” she answered, “and he’s 
so cunning, Tom. He had on his blue dress 


THE NATIVES 


31 

to-day. And he was calling for * daddy/ all 
the afternoon.” 

Nickerson had reached the side of the crib. 
A flash from the lighthouse, piercing the open 
window, dimly revealed the baby, fast asleep, 
one hand firmly grasping a battered white 
rabbit, with a faded pink ribbon about its 
neck, and one vacant and expressionless pink 
eye. 

The fisherman stood in silence, looking down 
at his boy. Outside, the drunken wind 
shrieked, rioting; within, in strange and signifi- 
cant contrast, the clock in the corner ticked off 
the seconds, decorously and without haste; yet 
behind Its seeming deliberation, veiling the 
steady, relentless tide of time, resistless and re- 
morseless as the fate of man. Reluctantly, at 
length, Nickerson turned toward the door. 
The night without seemed colder now, harsher 
and more cruel. Wind and wave called to. 
him, not as foemen, to be met on equal terms, 
but as masters, stern, imperious, exacting, not 
to be gainsayed. With a whispered good night 


PHAROS 


32 

to his wife, and one swift backward glance 
across the room, he closed the door behind him, 
and went out. 

As he re-entered the kitchen, he heard the 
steady creak — creak — creak — of footsteps 
on the kitchen stairs. Something in the sound 
seemed to alarm him, for he stole forward, 
as noiselessly as possible, toward the outer 
door. Yet he was too late. Before he could 
reach it, Jim Nickerson’s stooping figure, half 
dressed, candle in hand, rounded the turn in the 
stairway. “Tom!” he called commandingly, 
“ Tom ! ” and as Nickerson, pretending not to 
hear, kept on his way, he cried angrily again, 
“ Tom, you damn fool, hold still.” 

Nickerson turned. “ What’s the matter. 
Father? ” he asked. “ Can’t stop now. I’m in 
a hurry.” 

“ Hurry ! ” the old man repeated with con- 
tempt, putting down the candle on the table, 
“ Yes, hurry to git drownded. Hurry to come 
home with yer ears full o’ sand. That’s what 
you’re in a hurry for. You take off your 
things, an’ git to bed. She’s a Mowin’ great 


THE NATIVES 


33 

guns. I never see an easterly come up quicker 
in my life. There, listen to her — ” 

A savage gust, as he spoke, howled venge- 
fully about the house, but Tom only answered, 
‘‘ Don’t you worry. Father. It’s all right. We 
can make it,” and before the old man could 
prevent him, he went hastily forth into the 
darkness and the storm. 

For a moment, Jim Nickerson hesitated. 
Then, realizing that his protest had been vain, 
he pulled a chair up to the window, and sat 
down, a pathetic and incongruous figure, in his 
scanty attire, his long white beard sweeping 
to his waist, muttering anxiously to himself 
with the impotent solicitude of old age. Pres- 
ently the puppies came across to him, whimper- 
ing for attention; and not unkindly he stooped 
and lifted them on his knee. She’s a cat,” he 
muttered, half to himself, half to the dogs, 
as his eye swept the whitening bay; “that’s 
what she is — a big cat — ugly an’ treacherous 
an’ fierce. There’s times she’ll be quiet; times 
she’ll purr, like, jus’ to fool yer; an’ there’s other 
times, like to-night, when she’ll spit an’ snarl 


34 


PHAROS 


an’ fight. An’ she’ll git yer, too, ’fore she’s 
done. You stick to her long enough, an’ one 
way or another, she’ll git yer, sure as Fate. 
An’ you can bet on that, every dollar you own.” 

The dogs, as if mindful of his warning, 
peered forth into the blackness with wondering, 
half-human glances; then, as if feeling safe in 
the shelter of their home, they curled up con- 
tentedly, and went to sleep. But the old man 
still sat watching, until he heard the rattle of 
the pebbles underneath the scraping bow, and 
saw, in the dim, murky flashes from the light- 
house, the dory’s dark shape rise and fall, rise 
and fall, to the rhythm of the heaving seas. 
And it was not until long after the boat had 
disappeared, that he at last arose, and still 
listening to the spiteful howling of the wind, 
and the roaring of the angry sea, slowly re- 
mounted the creaking stairs. 

Meanwhile, once clear of the beach, the 
Edith Nickerson made her way easily 
enough out by Whitehead, and past Sutton 
Rock Hole; then, against an ever roughening 


THE NATIVES 


35 

sea, she fought her way, more slowly and with 
increasing effort, toward the point of Black 
Ledge. Once, off the Buckthornes, the wind 
seemed suddenly to increase, and Nickerson, 
hesitating for an instant, turned once more to 
Manuel. “What think?” he cried again. 

Manuel shrugged his broad shoulders. 
“ ’Tween the Hardings an’ the light,” he 
shouted back; “that’s all I’m worryin’ ’bout. 
It’ll be hell out there; that’s where you might 
catch one big sea would settle the argument 
quick. How you figure it, Joe?” 

On the instant, before Joe could answer, a big 
black shape seemed to rear itself suddenly out 
of the darkness, crashing by them to the north- 
east, not a dozen lengths away. Two men were 
bailing, while a third, bare-headed, his lank 
black hair plastered about his face, peered at 
them over the rail. He raised one warning 
hand in air as the dory swept by. “ No good,” 
he shouted; “ no good; too rough,” and in an- 
other moment they were lost to sight. 

Joe turned. “ Ain’t singin’ as much as they 
were,” he observed, and said no more. 


PHAROS 


36 

Nickerson, at the helm, with infinite skill and 
patience, nursed the dory along. “We can 
make it,” he cried; “ we’ll be the only boat in.” 

Neither of the others gainsayed him, but in 
answer a big white-crested sea bore gaily down 
upon them, splashing half a dozen buckets of 
water among their shining cargo. Nickerson 
dashed the spray from his eyes. “ We can 
make it,” he said doggedly again, and held 
the dory on her course. 

And dogged courage, indeed, was needed in 
that next hour; and endurance as well. Cold, 
cramped, and in spite of their oil-clothes, wet 
to the skin, they held her straight for the beacon 
on Green Island point, and nobly and well that 
night did the Edith Nickerson bear her- 
self. Steadily the pulsing engine hummed its 
song; steadily the long, high bow managed 
somehow to clear sea after sea; steadily Bay- 
port fell further and further behind, and the 
light on Green Island drew nearer and nearer 
still — and then, midway between the Hard- 
ings and the beacon, Manuel’s prophecy of the 
chance comber came true. All at once, they 


THE NATIVES 


37 


seemed to linger overlong in the trough of a 
big sea, in a momentary serenity which threat- 
ened vaguely with its very calm; then sudden 
and sharp came Manuel’s warning cry, “ Head 
her up ! Head her up I ” and huge and black 
and grim, towering higher and higher until for 
a moment they seemed to lie at the very base 
of some great mountain, silently, smoothly, the 
monster wave bore down. For one agonized 
moment the dory lay there, motionless, helpless, 
in the mighty ocean valley. God! Would 
she never rise? There — there at length she 
started ; up — up — up — but never fast 
enough to stem the cruel, treacherous speed of 
the advancing sea. All too soon came the mo- 
ment of impact. Crash! The dory, as if 
alive, with one final desperate effort seemed to 
leap straight into the air, her bow pointed 
toward the heavens, and then — a deafening 
roar, a whirl of black water and curling foam 
and flying spray — and the huge wave hurtled 
past, leaving behind it a crew half stunned, half 
blinded, bailing for their very lives, but still 
afloat, and with the Edith Nickerson once more 


PHAROS 


38 

staggering gallantly onward — trembling, 
beaten, buffeted — but safe. 

It was a quarter of an hour later when they 
weathered the point, and with comfort succeed- 
ing to danger, and with water calming at every 
revolution of the wheel, bore away to the west- 
ward, with shrieking tempest and crashing sea 
thundering in vain behind. It was three o’clock 
in the morning when they tied up at the wharf, 
and half-past three when they began their at- 
tack on the coffee and doughnuts in Leary’s all- 
night eating house. It was five o’clock when 
the doors of the fish market were thrown open; 
it was seven when the last of the herring had 
been transferred from the dory’s hold; and it 
was shortly after nine when, with a dying sea 
and wind, and some rays of sunlight filtering 
through the rifts In the broken clouds, Nicker- 
son threw on the switch, and started the engine 
for the long journey home. 

All three were weary and sleepy, but happy 
as well, for their fish had sold for a price even 
better than they had hoped for. Joe stretched 
himself contentedly on the deck. “ Well, we 


THE NATIVES 


39 

done well,” he observed; “the old boat cer- 
tainly acted fine.” 

Manuel yawned. “Yes, we made good 
money,” he agreed, “ but damned if we didn’t 
earn It, all right. This fishin’s a hard game, 
an’ don’t you forget It. Ain’t that so, Tom? ” 

For a moment or two, Nickerson did not 
reply. He too had been thinking of the night’s 
adventures, but from a different view-point. 
They had summoned all their skill and expe- 
rience to their aid, had braved the anger of the 
storm — and they had won. And when he 
answered. It was something of all this that he 
strove to put Into his words. “ Yes,” he said 
slowly, “ it’s hard work, all right, but so’s most 
things, I guess, that amounts to much. The 
old man was readin’ me out o’ one of his books 
t’other day — ” 

But Manuel promptly interrupted him. 
“ Oh, for God’s sake,” he cried, “ don’t tell 
us nothin’ ’bout what the old man’s been readin’. 
Jus’ look at that; the sun’s goin’ In already. 
You’ll spoil the whole trip yet, if you ain’t care- 
ful.” 


40 


PHAROS 


But Nickerson persisted. “ Oh, well,” he 
said defensively, “ the old man don’t read all 
discouragin’ books. He reads nice ones, too. 
That is,” he added honestly, “ sometimes he 
does. He gets ’em out by mistake, I reckon. 
But anyway, this was a real good one. Wrote 
by a feller named Stevens, I think it was — 
Robert L. Stevens, if I ain’t mistook. An’ he 
said ’twas his idea that a feller’s work was the 
principal thing to the whole business — it 
warn’t so much what he got out of it as ’twas 
his doin’ his very damnedest at the thing he 
happened to be pluggin’ at. I thought ’twas 
a real good, comfortin’ kind of an idea.” 

But the others shook their heads. “ Well, 
I call it a punk idea,” said Joe, with decision. 
“ A feller that would want to work, jus’ for the 
sake o’ workin’, would be a hell of a feller. 
They got special places for folks like that.” 

“Yes,” Manuel agreed, “ a man that works 
when he don’t have to is a fool. I wisht I had 
a half million dollars. I’d show you fellers 
how much I thought o’ workin’ then. Still, 
we got to keep at it. But if they’d only run 


THE NATIVES 


41 


that ’lectrlc road through town, an’ set the stock 
to boomin’, ’twould help us out considerable. 
When you git to be S’lectman, Tom, maybe you 
c’n do somethin’ to fetch it here.” 

Nickerson shook his head. “ Well, I’m not 
elected yet,” he answered, “ an’ even if I was, 
I don’t believe there’d be a chance to do much. 
They say Greenfield’s got the road cinched. 
And anyway, Man’l, you’re wrong about the 
money part of it. You wouldn’t be any better 
off with a half a million dollars than you are 
now.” 

Manuel grunted vigorously. “ Like ducks 
I wouldn’t,” he retorted, and Joe laughed 
aloud. “ I love to work,” he parodied, “ but 
oh, you greenbacks. No, no. Tommy, money’s 
what we’re after, the whole of us. And you 
know it as well as we do.” 

But Nickerson, outvoted, remained uncon- 
vinced. He was thinking of his wife, and of 
a little boy in a blue dress who watched at the 
window and called for “ daddy.” He was 
thinking of his gear, his nets, his line of traps. 
He was making an honest living; the dollars 


42 


PHAROS 


were piling up slowly in the bank; and behold, 
he was content. “ Doin’ your damnedest at 
what you’re pluggin’ at,” he repeated, “ I call 
that kind of a nice, comfortin’ idea,” and as 
he spoke the sun, for the first time that day, 
blazed bravely forth from behind the fast scat- 
tering clouds. And home lay now but two 
short hours away, and all was well. 


CHAPTER II 

THE SUMMER COLONY 

M rs. william mortimer, 

whose mother was a Russell, of 
Philadelphia, sat enthroned be- 
hind the punch bowl, on the Country Club ve- 
randa. She was the leader of Bayport’s summer 
colony, haughty of manner, chilly of demeanor; 
yet for the time being, she had so far unbent 
as to be verging on a mood distinctly affable, 
almost polite. 

The reasons for her satisfaction were three 
in number. In the first place, she was con- 
scious that she was looking her best. She was 
tall and dark, and to the taste of those who 
deem it impossible to have too much of a good 
thing, most prepossessing in appearance. Her 
gown, though it fitted her somewhat too closely 
for comfort, was a recent importation; ultra 


43 


44 


PHAROS 


fashionable, extremely expensive, and really so 
becoming that the suffering it cost her seemed 
hardly more than a kind of pleasant martyrdom, 
to be borne not only smilingly, but gratefully 
as well. 

Next, after the glories of her dress, she had 
been able, by a revolution of fashion, to wear 
for the first time in many years a necklace and 
earrings of coral, rescued from long retirement 
at the bottom of her jewel case, and belonging, 
in days gone by, to her mother, who had been 
a Russell, of Philadelphia. 

And finally, as a crowning pleasure, Mrs. 
Mortimer was graciously satisfied with the 
afternoon itself. She was, to be sure, a “ reli- 
gious ” woman, a regular attendant at church, 
at the village guild and the sewing circle, yet for 
all that she had a firm conviction that the beauty 
of the day was not owing wholly to the 
favor of Heaven, but was due in part to the 
fact that she herself had chosen it for the giving 
of the tea. She felt, in short, a pleasant sense 
of joint responsibility, as if her own ideas of 
weather, and the Almighty’s, had merely 


THE SUMMER COLONY 45 

chanced, with perfect propriety, exactly to coin- 
cide. 

If such, indeed, were the case, the taste of 
either could scarcely have been impeached. 
The afternoon, though the month was Novem- 
ber, was warm, with the languorous warmth of 
Indian summer; and the waning sunlight fell 
pleasantly on the low, square clubhouse, perched 
on the summit of a slope of rising ground, and 
looking far off down the valley, over the roll- 
ing green of the links. Pleasantly, too, it fell 
on the little army of carriages and motors, wait- 
ing to bear home the patrons of the tea; and 
softly and with sympathy it fell on the figure 
of good old Colonel Nettleton, kindest and most 
unfortunate of golfers, wearily playing thir- 
teen — or fourteen, he had forgotten which — 
out of the big bunker at the foot of hope-de- 
ferred hill, on the long sixteenth. Dame Na- 
ture had surely done her best, and was doubt- 
less quite repaid by the bland appreciation of 
Mrs. Mortimer. 

The tea itself — for a golf tea, of course — 
had been remarkably successful, though Mrs. 


PHAROS 


46 

Mortimer had long ago made up her mind that 
an affair of this sort was one of those things 
which could not be properly “ done.” To be- 
gin with, at least half the girls in Bayport were 
foolish enough to want to play a round before 
coming in to tea, and the result, in the way of 
flushed cheeks and tumbled hair, was something 
which Mrs. Mortimer had often described, with 
some heat, as “ simply disgusting.” And 
while this was bad enough, the case of the men 
was still worse; for these benighted creatures, 
almost as a unit, chose to regard the tea merely 
as a minor Incident in the afternoon’s play; and 
to have them dash thirstily toward the piazza, 
between rounds, sleeves rolled to the elbow, 
clubs In hand, and If the day chanced to be 
warm, even vulgarly perspiring, like so many 
laborers, was a sight which never failed to rouse 
Mrs. Mortimer’s ire. 

And thus, for any hostess with a decent re- 
gard for good form. It was evident that the giv- 
ing of a golf tea in Bayport was a task to be 
approached with caution; yet on this special 
afternoon, Mrs. Mortimer had moved Heaven 


THE SUMMER COLONY 


47 

and earth to make the affair a success, and the 
result had been a ti^iumph. To begin with, 
Mrs. Jeff ” Wyndham, and Kitty Hastings 
had poured, officiating with that professional 
cordiality which deceives no one, yet which is 
none the less essential, if the occasion Is to go 
down In social history as wonderful ” or 

“ an awfully jolly time.’’ Of more importance 
still, fully three-quarters of the girls, at Mrs. 
Mortimer’s urgent bidding, had come dressed 
In their best, and fearing temptation, had not 
allowed their eyes to wander even as far as the 
first teeing-ground. Many of the younger 
men, in turn, taken vigorously In hand by the 
ladles, had also appeared In proper raiment, 
and had stood about with a certain gloomy res- 
ignation, gorging tea and lemonade, sandwiches 
and cake, as If they felt, by doing so, that they 
were somehow helping to revenge themselves 
upon their hostess. The older men, to be sure, 
by this time hardened and reckless offenders, 
had for the most part stayed away altogether, 
but this perhaps really rather helped than hin- 
dered the general appearance of things, and if 


48 PHAROS 

their course of conduct was satisfactory to them- 
selves, it was doubtless still more so to Mrs. 
Mortimer. 

Not for an instant, however, must it be im- 
agined that the good lady was unduly elated 
by the manner in which the tea had progressed. 
Victory in this direction, as in everything else 
she undertook, she had become accustomed to 
regard merely as her due. Nor was this, in- 
deed, greatly to be wondered at, in view of the 
fact that her husband was Mr. William Morti- 
mer, of railroad fame. Mr. Mortimer was 
one of those venturesome mortals who dare to 
soar dizzily in the realms of modern high 
finance, and after a career of varied ups and 
downs, he had at last “ made good ” in earnest. 
In seven years he had accumulated seven mil- 
lions, and it had not taken Mrs. Mortimer seven 
weeks to accustom herself to the idea that the 
world was very much honored by the presence 
of herself and her husband, and that their 
triumphs in every department of life were to be 
regarded as perfectly natural phenomena, at 


THE SUMMER COLONY 


49 


which no one had the slightest reason to feel 
surprised; merely, in fact, as a kind of fair and 
equitable quid pro quo. Thus, the beauty of 
the day was one fractional part of this equiva- 
lent, the success of the tea was another, and in 
addition, her son Robert, and her daughter-in- 
law, who before her marriage had been Mary 
Harmon, of Brooklawn, had reached the final 
round of the November mixed foursomes. 
Billy Whitfield and Dorothy Lawrence were 
their antagonists, but Robert and Mary were 
the favorites, and Mrs. Mortimer felt that a 
family victory would now bring her day to a 
most pleasant and fitting close. 

Just at the moment, however, the result of 
the game was in doubt. Over beyond the val- 
ley, a quarter of a mile away, the players and 
their attendant “ gallery ” were making their 
way from the green of the short seventeenth 
over to the eighteenth tee. At the sixteenth, the 
Mortimers had been one up, but on the seven- 
teenth Whitfield had driven a hundred and 
ninety yards to the green, and Mortimer, in 


PHAROS 


50 

an endeavor to do likewise, had topped his ball 
into the swamp; and thus they came all even 
to the eighteenth. 

No other hole on the course furnished a 
fairer test of good golf. Starting from the low 
rock which served as a natural teeing-ground, a 
tangle of briers extended for fifty yards or more, 
a just, but most uncomfortable resting place 
for a topped drive. Next came a stretch of 
splendid turf, with no chance for anything but 
a perfect lie, and thence the ground sloped 
downward to a brook, guarded by a strip of 
marsh, rose for an equal distance on the further 
side, crossed another swampy depression, and 
ended, directly in front of the clubhouse, on the 
big eighteenth green. An undulating four 
hundred yard hole, made up of three hills and 
two valleys; after the first hundred and fifty 
yards inclining to be narrow, with woods to 
the left, and to the right, rocks and a ravine. 
Well satisfied the man who made it in five 
strokes, and justly proud the hero who made it 
in four. 

Dorothy Lawrence, bare headed, slender and 


THE SUMMER COLONY 51 

graceful, looking extremely pretty, and in her 
short golf skirt and crimson sweater, exceed- 
ingly business-like as well, teed her ball with 
care, pushed back her dark hair from her 
flushed cheeks, and coolly enough made ready 
to drive. Her swing, perhaps, was a trifle 
quick, the swing that Is apt to denote a nervous 
temperament, yet if this were so, her follow 
through was none the less most workmanlike 
and clean. Crack I The club met the ball as 
squarely as a die, and sent It skimming, low and 
on the line, fairly over the brow of the hill. 
She stepped back, and Whitfield, with a smile 
on his round, chubby face, hastened, in dumb 
show, to applaud her shot. 

Immediately Mary Mortimer stepped for- 
ward In her turn. Compared with her adver- 
sary, she appeared pale, petite, almost doll like, 
with much of a doll’s too flawless prettiness of 
feature. Her manner, as she addressed the 
ball, seemed to show something of apprehension 
— a feeling, indeed, well justified, with her hus- 
band standing beside the tee, gazing at her with 
the customary scowl on his black brows. A 


52 


PHAROS 


bad drive at this crisis in the game would in- 
evitably be followed by a scene; that she knew 
only too well ; and It was doubtless the thought 
of Robert and his temper which now caused his 
wife partly to top her drive, her stroke just 
managing to clear the brambles, and stopping 
well short of the brow of the hill. 

As Mortimer neared the ball, however, his 
mutterings ceased, his eyebrows straightened, 
and he even condescended a smile. It had 
stopped, by mere chance, on the top of a little 
hillock of wiry grass, as perfect a He as golfer 
could desire; and at the sight, Mortimer, sud- 
denly put Into excellent humor, gave a sigh of 
anticipation. The topped drive on the seven- 
teenth still rankled in his soul. “ Pm going,” 
he said softly to his wife, “ to knock the ever- 
lasting stuffing out of that damned ball,” and 
Mary Mortimer nodded, only whispering warn- 
Ingly, “ Don’t press. Bob ; that’s all.” 

And this. Indeed, Mortimer did not do. His 
stroke was true and clean in every way, save 
that somehow he managed to stand the frac- 
tion of an Inch too near his ball, and caught It, 


THE SUMMER COLONY 


53 

In consequence, just that same fraction too near 
the heel of his club. Of the length of his shot 
there could be no question. Amid a little 
chorus of “ ohs ” and “ ahs ’’ from the gallery, 
it started low and straight, like a rifle ball; 
then, midway In its course, began to curve to 
the left, at first gradually, then more and more 
quickly; and finally, as It struck the hill beyond 
the brook, on the one bound which might have 
saved it had It come to the right, it kicked 
perversely still further to the left, and to the 
accompaniment of a hearty curse from the 
angry Mortimer, disappeared in the tangled 
underbrush on the outskirts of the wood. 

Billy Whitfield managed to stifle the invol- 
untary exclamation which rose to his lips, and 
though his eyes told a far different story, he 
contrived, when he spoke, to throw into his 
voice just the right amount of friendly sym- 
pathy. “Oh, too bad,” he condoled; “tough 
luck, old man ; the hardest ever ; that’s a shame.” 

His opponent’s lips tightened, and his brows 
contracted. The Mortimer temper was coming 
to the fore. “ Oh, go to hell,” he muttered. 


PHAROS 


54 

none too guardedly, and hurried on ahead to 
join in the search. 

Jauntily and complacently, Whitfield In his 
turn made ready to play. His ball lay on the 
side hill. In something of a hanging He, yet 
good enough to make him hesitate for a mo- 
ment between the choice of brassle or midiron. 
His partner, observing him, spoke Impulsively. 
“ Oh, Billy,” she cried, “ not your brassle — 
now. Take your Iron, and play safe. That’s 
the only thing to do.” 

The remark was just enough to bring Whit- 
field to a decision. He pushed his Iron back 
Into the bag, and with a grin of pleasure at ven- 
turing on a shot which the laws of good golf 
really forbade, drew forth his brassle in its 
stead. “ Right on the green,” he said challen- 
glngly, and the words brought with them the 
retribution they merited ; for at once his mental 
vision became fixed on the far off hole, and the 
Imaginary ball rolling smoothly down toward 
the Imaginary flag, with the inevitable result 
that an Instant later the real ball was lost for a 
moment In a shower of dirt and flying turf, 


THE SUMMER COLONY 


55 

shortly to be revealed some twenty yards away, 
hanging desperately to the very edge of the 
brook. From the top of the hill Mortimer 
laughed gratingly, making a trumpet of his 
hands. “Oh, too bad, Billy,” he mocked; 
“ hardest kind, you know. Guess an iron would 
have been the thing. Too bad, old man, too 
bad.” 

Whitfield did not vouchsafe a reply. To 
Dorothy he said penitently, “ I’m awfully 
sorry.” 

The girl looked at him without reproach, but 
without forgiveness. “ Well, it can’t be helped 
now,” she said, “ but the iron was the club, 
Billy, and you knew it,” and forthwith taking 
her stand ankle deep in mud and water, she 
shortened her grip on her mashie, and sent the 
ball skimming up the hill, well out of danger, 
leaving Whitfield to play four, an iron shot from 
the green. 

In the meantime, Mortimer and his wife, 
with their two caddies, were hunting vainly for 
their ball In the bushes that lined the course. 
Their opponents ascended the hill to aid in the 


PHAROS 


56 

search, Whitfield, now in the happiest of hu- 
mors, whistling cheerfully as he walked along. 
There were a number of reasons for his good 
nature. For one thing, he liked to beat Morti- 
mer, and for another, he enjoyed having Doro- 
thy Lawrence for a partner. Also, he coveted 
the handsome cup which he hoped to receive, 
a little later, from Mrs. Mortimer’s reluctant 
hand; and last of all, with a selfish man’s nar- 
row breadth of view, he was glad of anything 
which contributed to the success or advance- 
ment, mental, spiritual, or material — with the 
accent on the material — of Mr. William Whit- 
field, Esquire. Thus so pleasant was his mood, 
that he was about to enliven the proceedings by 
attempting still further to rouse the Mortimer 
temper, when his adversary proceeded to give 
unmistakeable signs that it was already suffi- 
ciently close to the boiling point. One of the 
caddies, tired by his all-day tramp, with a 
golf bag almost taller than himself over his 
bent little shoulders, had ceased his search for 
a moment, just as Mortimer happened to 
glance in his direction. Instantly the auto- 


THE SUMMER COLONY 


57 

crat’s brows contracted. “ Get to work there, 
you young runt,” he called roughly, hardly tak- 
ing pains to moderate his voice, “ or I’ll have 
you fired off the links. Get to work now, 
and find that ball, or I’ll know the reason 
why.” 

Dorothy overheard him. She was standing 
near the boy — in reality, he was scarcely more 
than a child — and as he turned to his task 
again, she saw his lip begin to quiver. “ Rob- 
ert,” she called indignantly, “ you ought to be 
ashamed of yourself. To talk that way to a 
little boy. I’d rather give you the match. I 
don’t call that being manly a bit.” 

Mortimer, scowling savagely, made no re- 
ply. Whitfield, however, heard with dismay. 
He knew his partner’s impulsive nature, and 
feared that she might do something to rob 
them of their victory. Also he had no fond- 
ness for scenes ; and so walked over to her side. 
“Better not talk to Robert,” he whispered; 
“you know what he’s like, when he’s mad,” 
and then, with a kindness born of many differ- 
ent emotions, he called to the caddie, “ Come 


PHAROS 


58 

on with me, kid; we’ll look over by the edge; 
maybe weVe got In too far.” 

That he spoke the truth, and that the ball 
by any chance lay In the direction he had 
named, was probably the last thought In Whit- 
field’s ingenious mind. Yet a moment later, 
as he glanced Idly down at the ground, an un- 
expected, and most unwelcome sight met his 
eye. There, nearly under his feet, lay the ball, 
and worst of all, with the perversity of fate, 
it was neatly teed up on a little elevation of 
twigs. In a lie almost as good as if it had been 
out on the fair green. Whitfield looked cau- 
tiously about him. Mortimer and his wife 
were searching vainly in the depths of the 
wood; Dorothy Lawrence was far over to 
the right, near the clubhouse ; between them, the 
caddie was slowly approaching, his Interest In 
the hunt evidently at the lowest possible ebb. 
Very quietly Whitfield touched the ball with 
the toe of his boot, so that It rolled off into 
the mass of dead leaves and decaying vegeta- 
tion. Then, pressing gently down on It with 
his foot, he sauntered over toward the caddie. 


THE SUMMER COLONY 


59 

“ Keep your eyes open now, kid,” he warned; 
“ I think that ball’s right around here some- 
where. If you find it, maybe Mr. Mortlmer’ll 
be so pleased he’ll give you a dollar. So watch 
out.” 

He chuckled to himself at his own joke. 
The Idea of Bob Mortimer’s giving a dollar 
to anyone struck him as distinctly amusing. 
But on the boy, unacquainted with Mortimer 
and his peculiarities, the Irony of the speech 
was lost. A dollar! The idea was all that 
his small head could contain at one time; and 
the thought of It, looming large and bright and 
round to the bigness of the full moon, once 
more spurred on his weary limbs, and made 
him forget the ache in his eyes, as very hope- 
fully now he renewed his search. And then 
suddenly — wonder of wonders — there all at 
once the ball lay before him; Mortimer, mut- 
tering profanely to himself far back in the 
woods, heard a shrill cry, “ Here It Is, mister; 
I’ve got It,” and a moment later the four con- 
testants stood grouped together about the ball. 

“ Pretty bum He, old man,” said Whitfield 


6o PHAROS 

cheerfully; “ still, you were mighty lucky to find 
it at all.’’ 

Mortimer, considering the problem, grunted 
abstractedly. “ Here,” he commanded at 
length, “ take your niblick, Mary, and paste it 
straight out. Don’t try for distance; knock 
it out at right angles; and whatever else you 
do, don’t top it. Hit behind it, for Heaven’s 
sake.” 

Mary Mortimer, with the calmness of de- 
spair, took her stand among briers and bram- 
bles, and with a kind of blind nervous energy 
— she confessed afterward to Dorothy that 
she had shut her eyes — she struck with all her 
strength behind the ball. A shower of leaves 
and mold darkened the air, but the heavy nib- 
lick cut cleanly through it all, and the ball, 
shooting out clear of trouble, and catching the 
slope of the hill to perfection, rolled slowly 
down and stopped at the bottom, just clear of 
the trap bunker to the left of the brook. Mor- 
timer said nothing — praise of others, and 
especially of his wife, was something he did 
not believe in — but walked leisurely down the 


THE SUMMER COLONY 


6i 


hill, figured thoughtfully for a moment on 
slopes and angles, and then, with a low half 
iron, a favorite approach with him, rolled the 
ball neatly up to within ten feet of the flag. 

Whitfield, viewing the two shots with ex- 
treme disgust, walked slowly up to his own 
ball. “ Confound it all,” he muttered under 
his breath, “ that’s always the trouble with me. 
I’m too easy-going altogether. Why didn’t I 
put my foot on a little harder; I didn’t know 
the ground was so soft. Or I could have 
kicked it under a bush, I suppose, if I’d 
thought. I’m a fool. There’s such a thing 
as being too good-natured. It serves me 
right.” 

Eyeing the flag, whose top just showed be- 
yond the hill, he hesitated for a moment be- 
tween a half iron and a three-quarters mashle, 
finally decided on the latter, and hit a hard, 
clean ball, with a bit of turf along with it, high 
Into the air. It looked good all the way, 
and falling practically dead, with scarcely a 
bound or kick, it lay still, a couple of feet 
nearer than their opponent’s to the hole. 


62 PHAROS 

Whitfield drew a breath of relief. “ There,” 
he said, turning to his partner, “ that’s a little 
better. Now I guess it’s up to you.” 

The girl nodded. “ Playing the like, aren’t 
we?” she answered, and walked quickly for- 
ward toward the green. 

Down from the piazza flocked the attend- 
ants at the tea, Mrs. Mortimer herself sailing 
slowly and majestically along in the rear of 
the procession. Mary Mortimer, already 
nervous and dreading the presence of the 
crowd, instantly made up her mind to put, and 
have it over with. She took her stand, ran 
her eye along the line of her stroke, and had 
even drawn back her club, when all at once her 
husband’s anxiety overcame him. “ Don’t put 
too quick,” he cried, and the words effectually 
settled his wife’s chances of successfully pulling 
off the shot. Straightening up, she looked at 
him with a gaze that needed no accompani- 
ment of words. After that, even Mortimer 
knew enough to keep still. And then, as she 
once more made ready to play, someone in the 
crowd moved, and a long shadow quivered across 


THE SUMMER COLONY 63 

the green ; someone else coughed nervously, 
and altogether the put, weak and uncertain, 
stopped a good foot short of the hole. Mor- 
timer, fearing to meet his wife’s further glance, 
felt a dread still greater when she turned away 
without so much as a look in his direction. 
At once, he foresaw what would happen later, 
and blustering bully though he was, he shiv- 
ered at the thought of the scene which awaited 
him for that evening, in the privacy of their 
home. 

In the meantime, Dorothy Lawrence had 
stepped quickly forward, and had played in her 
turn. Her stroke was a trifle hard, but the 
green, though fast, was true, and the ball, trav- 
eling at a speed that made it, as it reached the 
further side of the cup, first jump into the air, 
and then hang there for an anxious fraction of 
a second, dropped quietly into the hole. The 
game was won. 

Then followed the pressing in of the crowd, 
the buzz of congratulations and commisera- 
tions, and then the adjournment to the club- 
house, where Mrs. Mortimer imposingly, if 


PHAROS 


64 

not over enthusiastically, presented the winners 
with their cups. Ten minutes later the guests 
had departed, and Whitfield, coming out of the 
locker room a moment or so ahead of Morti- 
mer, chanced upon the caddie, patiently wait- 
ing outside. Whitfield smiled at him benevo- 
lently. “ Strike him for that dollar yet, kid?” 
he asked. 

The boy, gazing solemnly back at him, shook 
his head. “ No, sir,” he answered; “ I’m wait- 
in’ for him now.” 

“That’s right,” said Whitfield heartily; 
“ he has it for you, I guess. He was so 
pleased you found the ball,” and he passed 
quickly on, to get Dorothy’s dogcart from the 
stable. 

A moment or two later, Mortimer himself 
hastily emerged. The boy came forward to 
meet him. “ Please, sir,” he said, “ were you 
goin’ to give me a dollar? ” 

Mortimer found himself unable to believe 
his ears. “ Give you what? ” he demanded, 
his frown deepening as he glared wrathfully at 
the boy. 


THE SUMMER COLONY 65 

The caddie, though evidently staggered by 
the autocrat’s manner, nevertheless stuck man- 
fully to his guns. “ A dollar,” he repeated, 
“ for findin’ your ball up there in the woods. 
The other gentleman said — ” 

Mortimer’s smoldering wrath burst sud- 
denly and volcanically into flame. He made a 
quick step forward, almost as if he would have 
laid violent hands on the boy. “ What do you 
mean, you young whelp? ” he cried. “ Get out 
of here, l>efore I break your neck for you. 
Haven’t you any sense — ” and the boy, really 
terrified, turned and fled. 

A few minutes later, Whitfield and Dorothy, 
bowling along In the dogcart through the 
woods, overtook a little figure, plodding along 
on his way toward home. The boy, stepping 
to one side to let them pass, at once recognized 
Whitfield. “ Say, mister,” he called, “ he 
didn’t give me no dollar. He got mad, too.” 

Whitfield turned as they sped by. “ Too 
bad,” he called back over his shoulder, in mock 
sympathy; “ I thought he’d give it to you, sure. 
That’s too bad.” 


66 


PHAROS 


Puzzled, Dorothy turned to him. “ Whar 
did he say about a dollar, Billy? ” she asked. 
“ Wasn’t that the caddie Robert was so hor- 
rid to?” 

Whitfield chuckled. He rather prided him- 
self on his sense of humor. “ Yes, that’s the 
boy,” he answered. “ I told him Bob would 
probably want to give him a dollar for finding 
his ball on the eighteenth; and the little fool 
believed me. Pd have given the dollar for a 
look at Bob’s face, when he got it through his 
head what the boy was asking for. Oh, I 
guess it’s been Bob’s happy day, all right.” 

The girl’s face clouded. “ Oh, Billy,” she 
said reproachfully, “ I think that’s mean. 
The poor little fellow. He must have been 
awfully disappointed.” 

But Whitfield hastened to reassure her. 
“ Now don’t you worry,” he said easily; “ he’s 
only a caddie. He can stand it. They’re a 
crowd of young robbers, the whole of ’em. He 
won’t think of it again.” 

For a moment, the girl hesitated. Her 
purse was in her pocket, and a sudden impulse 


THE SUMMER COLONY 67 

prompted her to rein in the horse, wait until 
the boy overtook them, and give him his 
promised reward. But the hour was late, the 
horse was restive; she must be in time for din- 
ner; and thus she finally allowed herself to be 
persuaded by Whitfield’s words, and relaxed 
her hold on the reins. “ Yes, they are cheats, 
aren’t they?” she answered, though more to 
soothe her conscience than because she really be- 
lieved what she was saying; “ I don’t suppose he 
does deserve it,” and they swept on, at un- 
checked speed. 

Behind them, through the gathering dusk, the 
caddie trudged along, revolving many things in 
his perplexed and puzzled brain. Something 
was surely wrong. He had been promised a 
dollar; he had found the ball which had been 
lost; and then, when he had asked for his re- 
ward, Mr. Mortimer had been angry, and 
had frightened him. Yet wherein he had of- 
fended, he could not see. And the more he 
thought of it, the lower his spirits grew, so that 
when he finally reached his home, and his 
mother asked him, as usual, “ Did you have a 


68 


PHAROS 


good day, dearie?” he only answered, “Yes, 
pretty good, Mother,” ate his supper soberly, 
and afterward went to bed more soberly still, 
for of all trials to be met with in this life, the 
sense of injustice is perhaps the hardest to bear; 
and there are things of greater value than a dol- 
lar, even in a caddie’s world. 


CHAPTER III 

BILLY WHITFIELD REVEALS THE EXISTENCE OF 
A MYSTERY 

M eanwhile, the high-stepping 

cob was carrying the dogcart along 
at a rattling pace, first leaving the 
woodpath behind, then, more slowly, following 
the wagon track across the fields, and finally, 
with a joyful whinny, swinging out Into the free- 
dom of the firm, straight country road. All 
at once, however, he slackened speed, stood mo- 
tionless for a moment, and then leaped forward 
with such a sudden bound that Dorothy had 
hard work to keep her grip upon the reins. Be- 
hind them sounded a mad clatter of hoofs, and 
an Instant later two riders dashed by, their 
horses stretched to racing speed; the woman 
slender, erect, well groomed; the man stout, 
red faced, “ horsey ” from cap to spur. Their 
pace was terrific, and presently a faint haze of 
69 


PHAROS 


70 

shimmering dust was all that remained to show 
where they had passed. 

“ Whe-e-e-w,” whistled Billy, “ some class 
there, all right Say, Dorothy, who was the 
beaut?” 

Dorothy was gazing thoughtfully after the 
vanished riders, and when she answered, there 
was a trace of envy in her tone. “ That was 
Sally Wyndham,” she said. “ I never saw any- 
one like her. She does the — well, you know 
what I mean — the queerest things. Why, 
she’s really almost — well, you know — she 
isn’t quite what you’d call — oh, you under- 
stand what I mean, Billy. And yet she goes 
with the very nicest people, everywhere. She’s 
most unusual, Billy; she really is. She’s what 
I call an exceptional woman. It’s not everyone 
that can do — well, such peculiar things, and 
still be considered perfectly good form. I 
think it’s because of her magnetism. She’s 
really wonderful, Billy. You’ve no idea.” 

“ Sally Wyndham,” Billy repeated, as if seek- 
ing to recall something to mind. Then sud- 
denly he began to laugh. “ Oh, sure,” he 


A MYSTERY REVEALED 


71 


ejaculated, “ Sally Wyndham ! Of course ; now 
I remember; she’s Mabel Atherton’s cousin. 
Say, she is a hummer, isn’t she? That wasn’t 
her husband she was with. I’ll bet a dollar.” 

Dorothy shook her head. “ Oh, dear no,” 
she rejoined. “ No one would bet with you 
about that, Billy. Mr. Wyndham is In busi- 
ness, poor man. He never comes home until 
late. And then he doesn’t ride horseback, any- 
way. That was that Blaisdell man — you 
know who I mean — the one there was all the 
scandal about. His wife divorced him — ” 

“ Oh, sure,” said Billy again, “ I know Blais- 
dell. He was stuck on that little soubrette in 
‘ The Girl From India ’ — the one who had to 
be so careful about not getting In draughts. 
Oh, sure; Blaisdell’s an awful sport.” 

He was silent, as If still reflecting. “ Sally 
Wyndham,” he repeated thoughtfully. And 
then. In triumph, “ There, I knew I’d get It. I 
really have an awfully good memory, Dorothy; 
I can always remember things like that. If I try. 
She was the one who started the Anti-Stork 
Society, and It got into all the papers, and made 


PHAROS 


72 

such a lot of talk. Say, Dorothy, do you re- 
member the motto — ” 

“ Billy,” the girl observed warningly, and 
Whitfield did not finish his sentence. He con- 
tinued, however, to chuckle spasmodically to 
himself, and presently broke forth again, “ And 
she was the one who told that awful vaccination 
story at Mrs. Schuyler’s dinner. You know the 
one I mean. About the washerwoman. They 
asked her — ” 

Billy said the girl again, even more warn- 
ingly than before; then, partly to change the 
subject, partly because she really meant it, she 
cried suddenly, “Oh, do look at the water 1 
Isn’t it splendid? ” 

Gradually, as they had sped along, the whole 
feeling of the air had changed with them. The 
soft fragrance of the woods was gone; in its 
place the crisp, salt breeze from the ocean 
struck sharply on their faces ; and at the summit 
of the last steep hill they heard the distant mur- 
mur of the surf, and saw before them the glory 
of the open sea. 

Far away to left and right, and far beyond — 


A MYSTERY REVEALED 


73 


far as the eye could reach — stretched the broad 
expanse of level blue, sparkling in the sunset’s 
fading light, here and there, about the ledges 
and at the base of the cliffs, breaking lazily into 
foam. In the west, a broad arch of rosy clouds 
lay banked against the sky; and beneath them 
the whole horizon flamed and glowed in a daz- 
zling splendor of gold and crimson. Already, 
in the far-off east, the dull, blending shadows 
of the night came creeping in from sea, and the 
first flash of the lighthouse, signal of sunset, cast 
its broad path cheerily shoreward across the 
bay. 

Billy surveyed the scene without emotion. 
“ Well, I guess it’s all right,” he answered, “ if 
people like that sort of thing. Can’t say I was 
ever stuck on this landscape game myself; too 
dead and alive for my blood. I want action 
for mine, like this afternoon, Dorothy. We 
beat ’em in good style, didn’t we ? And it made 
the old lady pretty mad, too. She didn’t care 
much for giving us those cups, now did she? ” 

“ Indeed she didn’t,” the girl replied, “ it was 
simply tragic, Billy; that’s the only word to de- 


PHAROS 


74 

scribe it. She was really jarred. I could see 
it in her face. Because she always wants to be 
everything; and I know she was sure Robert and 
Mary would win. It was a dandy joke on her.” 

Billy began to chuckle. “ Say, Dorothy,” he 
remarked, “ your saying that Mrs. Mortimer 
wants to be everything reminds me of an awfully 
funny story I heard the other day. There was 
a man once who was like that, and they used 
to say about him that whenever he went to a 
wedding, he wanted to be the bridegroom, and 
whenever he went to a funeral, he wanted to be 
the—” 

** Billy the girl interrupted, with a shud- 
der, “ please don’t be so vulgar. You’re awful y 
really you are.” 

Billy grinned, unabashed. Like most youths 
in their early twenties, he did not resent the 
phrase, for though he might have chosen other 
adjectives to describe it, to be “ awful ” was in 
reality one of his chief ambitions. “ Oh, well,” 
he answered jauntily, “ I didn’t mean any harm. 
There’s no use taking life too seriously, Doro- 
thy. These people that preach all the time 


A MYSTERY REVEALED 


75 


make me tired. We might as well have a little 
fun as we go along. And if you didn’t like that 
story, here’s another that’s a corker. I told it 
to Jimmy Mason going up on the train this 
morning, and I honestly thought he’d have a fit, 
he laughed so. It’s a peach. Want to hear 
it?” 

Dorothy looked somewhat doubtful. “ Well, 
I don’t know, Billy,” she parried, “ if it’s like 
most of the ones you tell — ” 

“ It is,” Billy confessed frankly, “ it’s like 
’em, only a little more so. But then, what’s the 
odds? Everything goes these days, you know. 
And we’re grown up ; we’re not kids any more. 
Once there was a girl — ” 

But at his tone, and at the manner in which 
the story began, Dorothy became alarmed. 
“ Oh, I don’t think, Billy,” she said hastily, 
“ that I care to hear It. Honestly, I don’t know 
what to make of you lately. You’re growing so 
hard, and cynical, and everything!^ 

Billy, under a mask of lofty Indifference, 
strove to conceal his delight. To be called 
“ awful ” was pleasant enough, but to be de- 


PHAROS 


76 

scribed as “ hard and cynical — and everything ” 
came as the very acme of praise. “ Oh, 
well — ” he began again, but Dorothy cut him 
short. 

“ So,” she declared, “ I won’t listen to your 
horrid old stories. You can either be nice, and 
talk about golf, and about what a good time you 
had this afternoon, or else — you needn’t talk 
at all. There now, Billy Whitfield.” 

Billy grinned amiably; the choice she gave 
him not proving in the least disquieting. To 
keep silent, indeed, would have been a trial, but 
to talk about himself, and the good time he had 
had, was a pleasure second only to the telling of 
“ funny ” stories. And at once, therefore, he 
proceeded to be “ nice.” 

“ Well, we did have a bully time, didn’t we, 
Dorothy,” he rejoined; “and didn’t I get off 
some screaming old drives, though? That one 
on the seventeenth — Gee, that was a pippin. 
And that midiron on the eighth. Wasn’t that a 
dream, though? ” 

“ Indeed it was,” Dorothy agreed, “ it was 
heavenly, Billy, it really was. I shall think of 


A MYSTERY REVEALED 


77 

that match all winter long. We had a wonder- 
ful day to end the season with.” 

Something in her words seemed to affect 
Billy’s spirits adversely. “ It is the end of the 
season, isn’t it?” he replied. “When do you 
go back to town, Dorothy? ” 

“ Next week,” she answered; “ almost every- 
one goes then, or else the week after. I don’t 
suppose you’ll stay as long as that, even. Just 
think — you’ve been here almost a month, 
Billy. I don’t see how you’ve endured it at 
Mrs. Stiggins’ boarding-house.” 

“Well, it hasn’t been bad,” Billy rejoined; 
“ I haven’t been there a great deal, anyway, 
except to sleep nights. People have invited me 
around so.” 

“ Yes, that makes a difference, of course,” 
she agreed; then added casually, “How much 
longer do you suppose you will stay, Billy?” 

Whitfield looked decidedly uncomfortable. 
“Well, I don’t exactly know,” he responded; 
“ I might — well, I might spend the whole win- 
ter here.” 

The girl’s amazement was absolute and un- 


PHAROS 


78 

feigned. Billy Whitfield, the lover of comfort 
and ease, and all the delights of city life — 
Billy Whitfield to think of spending a winter 
in Bayport, in Mrs. Stiggins’ boarding-house — 
it was incredible, preposterous ; of course it was 
not true. “ Now, Billy,” she said reproach- 
fully, “ I think you’re mean to joke. I really 
believed you.” 

Billy heaved a despondent sigh. “ Oh, 
there’s no joke about it,” he retorted; “ it’s the 
truth, confound it all.” He paused for a mo- 
ment, then continued with bitterness, “ Gee, but 
I love the country. It’s so nice and quiet; they 
say Bayport’s awfully restful in winter. And 
then there are the dicky birds, you know, and 
the wild flowers, and all that sort of thing. 
Oh, I tell you, it’s simply great.” 

The girl gazed at him in sudden alarm. 
“ Dicky birds,” she repeated, “ and wild 
flowers. In winter ! Billy,” she asked anx- 
iously, “ do you feel all right? Your head 
doesn’t trouble you, does it?” 

Billy sighed again. “ Oh, I know you think 
I’m crazy,” he replied, “but I’m not. That 


A MYSTERY REVEALED 


79 


is,” he added, “ not intentionally crazy. It’s 
not my doing, at all. You understand what I 
mean.” 

Dorothy’s expression wholly belied his last 
statement. “ Crazy, but not intentionally,” 
she repeated again, “ and spending the winter 
in Bayport. Oh, Billy — ” 

Billy tried once more. “ Now look here, 
Dorothy,” he said peering warily over his 
shoulder as if on the watch for some aerial 
eavesdropper, “ I oughtn’t to tell you this, but 
if you won’t give me away — if you won’t 
breathe a word to anyone — ” 

He paused, as if unable to proceed. Doro- 
thy’s glance was sympathy itself. “ About your 
— about your being — ” she hazarded. 

Billy reddened. “ Oh, the devil, no,” he 
snapped; “ I should think you might manage to 
understand. If I tell you why I’m staying here 
in Bayport, I want you to promise you won’t 
repeat it to a soul.” 

There could be, naturally, but one answer to 
the question. “ Why, of course I won’t,” said 
Dorothy, glibly; “I never repeat things,” and 


8o 


PHAROS 


Billy, having thus satisfied his conscience, turned 
his head still further in her direction, and in a 
low and mysterious voice, announced, “ Well 
then. I’m down here on a mission.” 

Yet he had once more failed to make him- 
self understood, for Dorothy’s conception of a 
“ mission ” was a wholly ecclesiastical one. 
Concluding, therefore, from Whitfield’s preter- 
naturally solemn expression that the whole af- 
fair was a piece of elaborate buffoonery on his 
part, she burst into a peal of laughter. “ Oh, 
you’re too funny, Billy,” she cried, “ you really 
are. A mission! And you haven’t been inside 
a church for years. You’re terrible^ Billy, to 
joke about such things.” 

But Billy, Instead of joining in her mirth, 
grew suddenly Irritated. “ Confound It all,” 
he cried, “where were you educated, Dorothy? 
It doesn’t make any difference how hard I try; 
I can’t seem to get an Idea through your head. 
I don’t mean that kind of a mission — ” 

The girl, vexed In her turn, ceased laughing. 
“ I wish, Billy,” she said Icily, “ that you’d try 
just once, to express yourself clearly. If you’re 


A MYSTERY REVEALED 8i 

not talking about a church mission, then please 
tell me what you do mean.” 

But Billy, with his opportunity thus fairly 
presented, failed miserably to take advantage 
of it. “Why, you see — ” he began slowly, 
then hesitated, and finally concluded, lamely 
enough, “ Well, the fact is, Dorothy, I don’t 
really know myself.” 

The girl’s exasperation was complete. There 
was a momentary pause, before she observed, 
with dangerous sweetness, “ I want to apolo- 
gize, Billy, for thinking you were crazy — ” 

Billy’s resentment began to thaw. “ Oh, 
that’s all right,” he interrupted, but she kept 
steadily on, “ because, if a person is crazy, I 
suppose that means they have to have some sort 
of a brain, to go crazy with.” 

Billy winced. Reflections upon himself were 
extremely distasteful to him. “ Oh, well, look 
here,” he exclaimed in desperation, “ you know 
my Uncle Staunton, of course. Well, he’s the 
man who sent me here.” 

At last the girl understood him, for the Hon- 
orable Staunton Whitfield was famous through 


82 


PHAROS 


the length and breadth of the State. “ Oh, 
your uncle,” she exclaimed; “ then it’s business, 
Billy.” 

Billy nodded. “ Yes, I suppose so,” he as- 
sented, “ but I wish he’d let me know what sort. 
He made me come down to Mrs. Stiggins’ last 
spring, you know, and board there for a week 
— to establish a legal residence in Bayport, I 
think he said. That was the last I knew of it 
till a month ago ; then he told me to engage my 
room at Mrs. Stiggins’ again, and to come down 
here, right away. He didn’t say why — just 
told me to go around and get acquainted with 
the Bayport crowd, and to be careful not to 
make any enemies. And he didn’t set any limit 
on my visit either. So now you know as much 
as I do, Dorothy. I’m here, but I don’t know 
for how long; I don’t even know what for. 
Probably it’s interesting, though; the things 
Uncle Staunton mixes up in generally 
are.” 

The girl was visibly impressed. “ Why, 
Billy,” she exclaimed in an altered tone, “ I call 
that positively thrilling. I always did love a 


A MYSTERY REVEALED 83 

mystery; and it shows that your uncle must have 
great confidence in you. But have you done as 
he told you? Have you been around much in 
the village?” 

Billy looked his guilt. “ Well, I’m afraid I 
haven’t,” he confessed; “you see. I’ve been 
pretty busy. Playing all these foursome 
matches has taken a lot of time, and I’ve had 
to go out to dinner a lot, besides. But I’m go- 
ing to start now, and pitch right in. Because, 
if I could make a hit with the old gentleman, 
it would help a lot.” 

“ Of course it would,” the girl agreed; “ why, 
it’s a great opportunity, Billy. And you haven’t 
an idea what it’s all about? ” 

Billy shook his head. “ You can search me,” 
he answered, “ though they’re talking a lot in 
town about some confounded street railway or 
other — it’s the principal topic of conversation 
at Mrs. Stiggins’. And that looks suspicious, 
because of course street railways are Uncle 
Staunton’s particular pets — he’s got ’em trained 
to come and eat out of his hand. But where 
I come in is still a mystery. Perhaps,” he 


84 PHAROS 

added hopefully, “ he’s going to give me a job* 
as motorman.” 

Dorothy smiled. “ That’s It, of course,” 
she answered, “ but seriously, Billy, I’m awfully 
Interested. You’re very nice to tell me about 
it. And I hope you’ll make a great suc- 
cess.” 

Billy’s usual good temper was now completely 
restored. “ Well, I hate to talk about myself,” 
he began modestly, and then suddenly stopped. 
“ Say, Dorothy,” he cried excitedly, “ just look 
at that ! ” 

While they had been talking, they had drawn 
gradually nearer the water, until now, at the 
turn near the point, they were only a stone’s 
throw distant, and at the sight of the power 
boat which lay below them, tossing off the head- 
land, everything else vanished Instantly from 
Billy’s volatile mind. “ Look at that,” he re- 
peated, “ see where that fool of a lobsterman 
is hauling his traps. He’ll come piling In on 
one of those ledges, if he doesn’t take care.” 

The girl glanced quickly toward the water. 
Close to the rocks, a white power dory was ris- 


A MYSTERY REVEALED 85 

ing and falling to the sweep of the waves; 
amidships, a stalwart figure pulled steadily, 
hand over hand, on the black-tarred lobster 
line. As they watched him, the head of the 
trap emerged from the water; the fisherman, 
stooping, hauled it aboard, opened the wooden 
door, drew forth one — two — three — snap- 
ping, struggling lobsters, picked up a piece of 
bait, thrust it on the wire, and with the mechan- 
ical skill born of long practice, shoved the trap 
over the side, and bent once more to start his 
engine. 

As he did so, a receding wave showed the 
brown, venomous looking head of one of the 
smaller reefs, not ten feet from the dory’s 
stern. “ There,” Billy exclaimed, “ just look. 
He’ll get wrecked, you see if he doesn’t.” 

The girl laughed at his anxious tone, “ You 
needn’t worry, Billy,” she said; “ the lobstermen 
know the shore as well as we know the golf 
links. See, he’s all right — ” 

The fisherman had thrown on his switch, 
given his wheel a turn, and with a sudden putt- 
putt-putt the dory leaped forward toward the 


86 


PHAROS 


next trap in line. Dorothy touched the cob 
lightly with the whip, and as they sped on again, 
she added, “ I know who that was, too. He’s 
one of the best fishermen in town. His name 
is Nickerson.” 

“ Well, that’s a good old Bayport name,” 
Billy commented idly. “ I don’t believe I’ve 
met him yet. How does it happen that you 
know him, Dorothy?” 

“Through his wife,” she answered; “she 
used to do sewing for me, before she was mar- 
ried. She was the belle of Bayport, Billy; 
really an awfully pretty girl. They live out on 
the marsh, beyond the harbor — all alone. 
And they have the dearest little boy; I’m hon- 
estly in love with him.” 

Billy smiled. “ Gee,” he began with feel- 
ing, “ I wish ” — and then stopped, the remark 
being somewhat too obvious, even for him — 
“I — I wish I could see him,” he concluded, a 
trifle lamely. 

Dorothy’s eyes twinkled. “ Yes,” she re- 
plied sweetly, “ I know how fond you are of 
children. I’ll take you over sometime. But 


A MYSTERY REVEALED 87 

there’s another member of the family you’d 
like even better than the baby, Billy.” 

“ Yes,” Billy responded guilelessly, “ I dare 
say I should. That is, if she’s as pretty as you 
say she is — ” but Dorothy let him proceed no 
further. Billy , she cried, “ you mustn’t say 
such things. I don’t mean Mrs. Nickerson at 
all; I mean Tom Nickerson’s father; he lives 
with them, you know. And he’s the most 
awful old man you ever saw; he’s so perfectly 
impossible that he’s actually fascinating. 
When I went to see Mrs. Nickerson and the 
baby, he insisted on coming Into the room, and 
asking me who I was, and where I lived, and 
what my father’s business was, and all such 
questions as that. And finally he started talk- 
ing religion. Just fancy, Billy. He wanted 
to know if I believed In God, and whether I 
thought people had Immortal souls; and when I 
told him I did think so, he said, in the most dis- 
agreeable way, “ And so you imagine, young 
woman, that when you die, you’ll enter into a 
state of eternal bliss? ” I thought It was time 
to squelch him, so I answered that that was just 


88 


PHAROS 


what I expected to do, but that I thought he 
might manage to find something much pleasan- 
ter to talk about. And at that, the horrid old 
thing began to laugh so hard that he choked, 
and Mrs. Nickerson made him leave the room. 
I never knew such an old cynic. That’s why I 
think you’d like him, Billy.” 

Billy grinned. “ Well, he listens pretty good 
to me, I confess,” he answered; “ I’d like to go 
over and give him a jolly, some day. But see 
here, Dorothy,” he added, “ what about Nick- 
erson himself? How did the belle of Bayport 
come to marry hinij out of all her suitors? Is 
he the village oracle, or anything like 
that?” 

“ Why, not exactly,” rejoined Dorothy, “ but 
he’s a very nice man, Billy; the kind that every- 
one likes. I imagine, as far as that goes, that 
she was the lucky one, and not he. Of course 
she’s a very attractive girl, but she’s awfully 
young to be married, and a mother, and I’ve 
heard one or two things about her lately — well, 
not exactly what you’d call unpleasant things — 
but I think it must be hard for any girl who’s 


A MYSTERY REVEALED 89 

been fond of a good time, and had so much at- 
tention, to settle right down, all at once, to cook- 
ing and washing and mending and looking after 
a baby. I sometimes think — ” 

But the sentence remained unfinished. The 
cob, with a sudden start of fright, shied, jumped 
half across the road, and then, lowering his 
head, prepared to bolt, but the girl’s firm grasp 
on the reins steadied him, and the next moment 
he was again under control. “ There, there, 
old boy,” she soothed him, “ that’s all right; no 
one’s going to hurt you ” ; then turning to Whit- 
field, “ What Is It, Billy? ” she asked. “ What 
made him shy?” 

Billy, glancing behind them into the dusk, 
saw some white object by the roadside, near the 
spot where the cob had taken fright. “ Looks 
like a poster on a tree,” he answered. “ Pull 
him up, Dorothy, and I’ll go back and rip it off. 
That’s no place for a thing like that. Any 
horse would run.” 

A moment later, he returned, chuckling, with 
the offending paper in his hand. “ Good for the 
old nag, Dorothy,” he observed, as he swung 


PHAROS 


90 

himself into the cart; “I don’t blame him a 
particle. I’d shy myself. Just listen to this, 
will you?” And he read, with infinite gusto, 
the huge capitals on the flaring placard, “ ‘ A 
Message For You! Jesus Is Coming! Are 
You Watching? ’ ” and below, in somewhat 
smaller type, “‘Come one, come all! Town 
Hall, to-night. Admission free. Brother, are 
you saved?’ There, Dorothy,” he cried, 
“ now what do you know about that? Do you 
blame the cob? That’s what they mean by 
horse-sense. ‘ Jesus is coming! ’ Say, wouldn’t 
that get your goat? ” 

Dorothy felt a trifle shocked at the freedom 
of his speech, but vastly more so by the lan- 
guage of the circular. “You mustn’t be pro- 
fane^ Billy,” she chided; “ it’s not nice. But it 
is fearful, isn’t it? Such an utter want of taste. 
Such shockingly bad form. And yet the whole 
of Bayport will turn out, to listen to some awful 
evangelist, I suppose. I wonder, Billy — ” 

But Whitfield interrupted with a sudden ex- 
clamation. “ By Golly, Dorothy,” he cried, 
“ the very idea. For Heaven’s sake, do me 


A MYSTERY REVEALED 


91 

a favor, and go to the town hall with me to- 
night.” 

She gazed at him in astonishment. “ Don’t 
joke, Billy,” she began, but he cut her short 
once more. 

“ No, no,” he cried eagerly, “ don’t you see? 
It’s a wonderful chance to get acquainted. 
Everyone will be there, and it will be thoroughly 
respectable, being a church affair, and all that. 
You’ll introduce me to all the people you know. 
Nickerson will be there. And the pretty wife,” 
he added flippantly; “ perhaps even the baby. 
I don’t suppose they’ll get the old man. He 
must be past saving. Come on, Dorothy, be 
a sport; say you’ll go.” 

As he finished speaking, they reached the en- 
trance to the driveway of the Lawrence’s home. 
Dorothy, hesitating, brought the horse to a 
standstill. “ Well,” she said at last, “ if you 
really want me to go, Billy, I will. But I can’t 
drive you the rest of the way, because I’ll have 
only just time to dress for dinner. Do you 
mind?” 

In a twinkling, Billy had jumped down into 


PHAROS 


92 

the road. “ You’re a brick, Dorothy,” he cried; 
“ ril call for you at a quarter of eight,” and 
lifting his cap, he strode away toward Mrs. Stig- 
gins’, looking forward, with relish, to the combi- 
nation of duty and pleasure which the evening 
held in store. 

The revivalists had done their work well. 
The poster at which Dorothy Lawrence’s horse 
had shied was but one of hundreds, scattered 
broadcast through the town; and Billy Whit- 
field was not the only one to be impressed, in 
one way or another, with the eloquence of their 
appeal. At the very hour, indeed, that Whit- 
field was nearing home, Tom Nickerson had 
beached his dory, and was walking up the path 
toward the cottage. As he entered the kitchen, 
he beheld his father standing near the stove, 
gloomily stirring the contents of a sauce-pan 
with a long-handled spoon. Nickerson smiled. 
“Turned cook. Father?” he queried. 
“ Where’s Edith?” 

“ She’s puttin’ your boy to bed,” the old man 
responded, “ and she told me to keep a’ stirrin’ 
this cussed mess till she come back again. 


A MYSTERY REVEALED 


93 


She’s been gone ’most half an hour, seems to 
me,” he added vindictively; “ heard her fussin’ 
with him ’bout his prayers. A kid two years 
old sayin’ prayers ! I’ll bet she done it to keep 
me stirrin’ here. There she comes now. 
’Bout time,” and he glared at his daughter-in- 
law, as she hurriedly entered the room, and re- 
lieved him of his unwelcome task. “ Pretty 
nigh busted my arm for me, Edie,” he grumbled, 
and hobbled over to his chair by the window. 

Edith Nickerson smiled covertly at her hus- 
band. “ I’m sorry. Father,” she said; “ the 
baby was so lively; he didn’t want to go to bed 
at all,” and then, to Nickerson, “Any luck, 
Tom?” 

“First class,” Nickerson answered; “that 
easterly the other day stirred them up fine. I 
wouldn’t take fifteen dollars for the lot I caught 
to-day. Ought to do well to-morrow, too, I 
should think. I baited with flounders; three to 
a pot, all around ” ; then, abruptly changing the 
subject, he added, “ Say, Edith, want to go over 
to the village to-night? Father’ll stay home 
and take care of the boy.” 


94 


PHAROS 


Before she could answer, the old man glanced 
up eagerly at his son. “ What’s goln’ on in 
the village?” he queried. “ ’Tain’t minstrels, 
is it? If ’tis. I’m goin’ myself, an’ you an’ Edie 
can tend your boy between you.” 

Nickerson’s eyes twinkled with amusement. 
He produced a poster from his pocket, crossed 
the room, and handed it to his father to read. 
There was a moment’s silence, and then the old 
man gave a snort of disgust. “ Another o’ 
them damn sky-pilots,” he ejaculated, throwing 
the placard on the table with no very respect- 
ful hand; “ you an’ Edie can go, Tom. Babies 
is bad enough, but there’s one thing that’s a 
darn sight worse, an’ that’s these gospel 
shouters, consarn ’em. Oh, I’ll stay home, an’ 
glad enough to do it, too.” 

Mrs. Nickerson crossed quickly to the table, 
and read the notice through. She, too, was 
disappointed. “ I thought you meant some 
kind of a show, Tom,” she said; “ that sounds 
just like church.” 

“Well, everyone’s going,” rejoined Nicker- 
son, “ and it’s all free. I like to hear them 


A MYSTERY REVEALED 


95 

fellers, myself. I guess we better take it in, 
Edith.” 

Edith had returned to her cooking. “ Oh, 
all right,” she replied indifferently; “I’ll go. 
It’s better than nothing. It’s too early for 
shows, anyway, I suppose. And I can wear 
my pink dress.” 

Two hours later, the evangelists appeared on 
the platform of the town hall, to find the build- 
ing packed to the doors. The first performers 
were a male quartette, who sang nasally, but 
with gusto, of the advantages to be gained by 
those who served the Lord. These fortunate 
individuals were represented as coming before 
their Creator with a long list of requests, none 
of which could be refused, since the petitioners 
were all worshipers at the tabernacle, and in 
the best of standing. The chorus especially 
emphasized the sound business character of the 
whole transaction. 

" He listens with a^-proving glance, 

And grants them all their wa-a-a~nts** 

Thus reassuringly sang the male quartette, 


96 PHAROS 

and an audience must have been hard to suit 
which did not yield to the pleasant spell of such 
a comfortable and practical presentation of the 
rewards of righteousness. After which, there 
came prayer, then a quavering solo from a 
faded soprano, and finally the address itself. 

It was at this point that Billy Whitfield, as 
he told Dorothy afterward, “ began to sit up 
and take notice.” For the evangelist was a man 
to compel attention. It was not so much that 
he was young, and extremely good looking, or 
that he spoke with ready eloquence, but it was 
soon apparent that he possessed two traits which 
seemed wholly out of keeping in a modern min- 
ister of the gospel. In the first place, he was in 
deadly earnest in what he said, and in the next, 
he showed a tolerant breadth of view which 
made the “ church folks ” in the audience fairly 
gasp. The first half of his sermon was reason- 
ably within bounds, but at this point he stopped 
short, and when the pause had lengthened al- 
most to embarrassment, and every eye in the 
hall was riveted on him, he recommenced in a 
very different vein. “ I have been speaking,” he 


A MYSTERY REVEALED 


97 


went on, “of religion; trying to tell you that 
rightly understood, It Is, and always must be, 
the greatest force In the world. But I should 
be a foolish man If I thought, or expected, that 
everyone In this hall to-night would agree with 
what I say. Many of you, of course, believe, 
as I do. In the divinity of Jesus Christ. Others 
believe In him, but consider that he was merely 
mortal, like ourselves. Others still not only 
do not believe In Christ, but do not believe In 
the Church, do not believe In religion, do not 
even believe in a God.” 

There was not an Inattentive listener In the 
hall, for here was the bald and naked truth, 
straight from the shoulder ; and while the virtu- 
ous waited expectantly, foreseeing a fiery denun- 
ciation of the unbelievers, the doubters braced 
themselves for a vivid picture of the bottom- 
less pit, and the horrors of eternal damnation. 
But equally to the surprise of both factions, the 
speaker continued, “ I have said that religion Is 
the greatest force In the world. Yet I am the 
first to admit that comparing actual results 
with all that might be accomplished, religion 


PHAROS 


98 

to-day seems little better than a failure. And 
the reason lies here. There is too much dis- 
sension, too much controversy, too much bitter- 
ness; and because of this we cannot unite on a 
common ground. And yet — here is the pity 
of it — ” He advanced, in his eagerness, to 
the very edge of the platform, and stood with 
arms outstretched and upraised — “ away down 
in our hearts, however much we may differ 
about beliefs and creeds, we all wish one thing 
— to see good, and not evil, triumph in this 
world. What we need more than all else to- 
day, is a simpler standard — a broader vi- 
sion — ” 

He paused, seeking for the words which 
would best serve to drive his meaning home; 
then went on, “ You fishermen of Bayport know 
every inch of this coast; you know each rock 
and reef and ledge; each eddy and tide and cur- 
rent; you know the dangers and the hardships; 
and you know that through the blackest night 
and through the wildest gale, north and 
south and east and west, there flashes the gleam 
from your lighthouse, to guide you on your way. 


A MYSTERY REVEALED 


99 


“ And so, call it by what name you please — 
God, Duty, Right — in the heart of every man, 
amid the storms of the world, the beacon 
flashes, and every action, every word, every 
thought, is judged in that clear flame. Follow 
it, for it is the light eternal — the wonder and 
the mystery of the world.” 

He ceased abruptly, and resumed his seat. 
The male quartette, after a proper pause, again 
discoursed sweet music, this time warbling of 
pearly gates and harps of gold; a local clergy- 
man prayed drearily, in a whining sing-song, 
and the meeting was at an end. 

With the filing out of the audience, came 
Billy’s opportunity. He spoke to all the people 
he knew, and to some he did not, and through 
Dorothy’s assistance, was introduced to many 
others, Nickerson and his wife among the rest. 
So that when he finally left the hall, it was in 
a thoroughly satisfied frame of mind. “ Say, 
Dorothy,” he observed, as they walked along 
toward home, “ you were awfully good to go. 
It helped a lot, meeting all those old guys. If 
Uncle Staunton asks me any questions now. I’ll 


lOO 


PHAROS 


be able to throw a great bluff that I know every- 
one in town. Yes, sir, that helps a lot.” 

They walked along for a few moments in si- 
lence. Then Dorothy asked, “ What did you 
think of the affair itself, Billy? ” 

“Liked it,” Whitfield promptly rejoined; 
“ the singing was something fierce, of course, 
but the shouter was all right. He let ’em have 
it, right in the solar plexus.” 

“ Yes,” Dorothy somewhat vaguely assented, 
“ but isn’t it dangerous, Billy, to be so hroadf 
I thought it was most unusual for a minister 
to talk like that.” 

Billy chuckled. “ It was unusual,” he re- 
joined; “ I thought it was hot stuff, myself. I 
do like to see a parson that isn’t looking for 
a chance to lick the dust off someone’s shoes. 
This fellow had the straight dope, Dorothy. 
Don’t bother too much about religion, but just 
go ahead and do what’s right. That’s what I 
call sensible.” 

Dorothy looked doubtful. “ But it isn’t as 
easy as that, Billy,” she objected; “we don’t 
do right, really, any of us.” 


A MYSTERY REVEALED loi 


“ Oh, nonsense,’* Billy retorted briskly; ‘‘ of 
course we do right That’s a cinch. Think 
of the murderers, and the bank robbers, and all 
those chaps. I guess, compared to them, we’re 
right there with the bells on, every time.” 

Dorothy pondered. It seemed to her that 
Billy disposed of the problem almost too easily, 
yet his argument appeared sound, and so com- 
forting that she decided to accept it as final. 
“ Yes, I suppose you’re right,” she answered, 
and they walked on up the road. 

In the meantime, Nickerson and his wife were 
rowing out from the harbor, toward the island. 
Edith, reclining in the stern of the skiff, was 
reviewing the evening in her mind, and the 
two persons most prominent in her thoughts 
were Dorothy Lawrence and Billy Whitfield. 
She remembered with envy how beautifully 
Dorothy had been dressed, how gracefully she 
had carried herself ; how charming her manners 
had been; and she thought with admiration of 
Whitfield, well groomed, suave, polite, and of 
how courteously he had helped her down the 
steps, with one steady and reassuring hand upon 


102 


PHAROS 


her arm. Tom would never have thought of 
that. And Tom’s clothes — how shabby they 
had appeared — 

Nickerson’s voice broke the silence. “ En- 
joy it, Edith? ” he asked. 

“ Oh, pretty well,” she answered Indifferently, 
“ for that kind of a time. The singing was 
awful, though.” 

“Yes, I s’pose ’twas,” Nickerson assented, 
“but what did you think of the preacher? I 
guess he surprised a lot of ’em in that hall, all 
right.” 

Edith hesitated. “ Well,” she confessed at 
length, “ I didn’t pay much attention to what he 
was saying. Sermons are all the same, you 
know. Tom,” she broke off suddenly, “ did 
you notice the dress Dorothy Lawrence had 
on?” 

Nickerson, accustomed to his wife’s sudden 
and violent changes of conversation, patiently 
shook his head. “ No, I didn’t notice,” he 
answered. 

Edith shrugged her shoulders. “ Of course 
not,” she rejoined; “ you never do. But it was 


A MYSTERY REVEALED 103 

a dream, Tom; it looked simple, but I’ll bet it 
cost a lot, just the same. It was awfully stylish. 
It must be fine to be able to dress like that.” 

“ Yes, fine,” Nickerson answered absently, 
but his thoughts, as he spoke the words, were 
far away. For as they rowed along, the gleam 
of the lighthouse flashed and glowed over the 
quiet water, revealing dimly the shoals, and the 
sullen, lurking ledges. “ Queer now,” he re- 
flected, “ I never thought of that before. 
That’s what it is to be educated. But I’ll re- 
member it, though; that’s the kind of idea 
might help a man sometime — ” and under the 
steady dip of the oars, the skiff drew nearer 
and nearer to the beach. 


CHAPTER IV 


STAUNTON WHITFIELD PLANS TO DO THE 
PUBLIC GOOD 

T he Honorable Staunton Whitfield sat 
in his office, and pondered. He was 
a man, now well past middle age, 
whose business career had been divided into 
two main parts. All the earlier portion of his 
life — up, indeed, to the last dozen years — 
he had toiled incessantly, and a half million 
dollars had been his reward. Then, perhaps 
feeling that he had earned a rest, he had an- 
nounced his retirement from active work, and 
had taken to pondering instead. Apparently 
the change had been a happy one, for simply 
and without display — seemingly without ef- 
fort, even — the half million had increased 
ten fold, and the pondering still went on. 

In his half century of business life, he had 
been interested in many things. He had not 

104 


WHITFIELD PLANS 


105 

been infallible. He had failed in some under- 
takings; he had been “sold” in others; and 
once or twice, at the outset of his career, his af- 
fairs, for a time at least, had been seriously 
involved. In the main, however, for a self- 
made man of adventurous disposition, working 
out his theories for himself, and playing, as it 
were, a lone hand in the game, he had been 
wonderfully successful. When luck had been 
with him, he had pressed it to the limit; when 
he had scored a failure, he had hunted for the 
reason until he found it, and had then given 
others the benefit of his experience with such 
skill that in the end even his worst defeats had 
been transformed into profitable and triumphant 
victories. To do him justice, however, he cared 
little for gold for its own sake, regarding it 
merely as the outward and visible sign, to show 
that he worshiped, in common with all true 
Americans, at the shrine of the great American 
idol — the God of Business Success. 

If you had chanced to halt the first man of 
standing whom you met down town, and had 
questioned him concerning Mr. Whitfield, his 


io6 


PHAROS 


answer would have been something like this: 
“ Staunton Whitfield? Oh, yes, he’s mixed up 
in lots of things. Street railways, mostly; and 
real estate; and politics, too, of course. He 
does ’em all three, and he does ’em all mighty 
well.” And to this reply he might have added 
a footnote, explaining that Mr. Whitfield’s real 
estate lay wholly in the city; that his street rail- 
ways were largely suburban; and that his po- 
litical interests were somewhat in the nature of a 
post-graduate course. For the Honorable 
Staunton had served in turn as Representative, 
State Senator and Congressman, and had then 
decided, once and for all, that the office-hold- 
ing part of the game was scarcely worth the 
candle, and that to be the lobbyist, the “ man 
behind,” was the role which in reality paid the 
largest, as well as the most direct and satis- 
factory, returns. And as a lobbyist, no man in 
the State was shrewder or more resourceful 
than this quiet looker-on, who now for twenty 
years had annually tabled and “ sized-up ” the 
crop of lawmakers at the Capital, calculating 
to a nicety when he might, and when he might 


WHITFIELD PLANS 107 

not, be able to bend and fashion them to serve 
his ends. 

In appearance, the Honorable Staunton, 
without being in any way conspicuous, was never- 
theless distinctly a noticeable man. He was 
of medium height, stoutly and heavily built, 
and ruddy of complexion; his eyes were pale 
blue, set far back in his head, and gleaming 
coldly underneath shaggy brows; his hair was 
dark, though heavily streaked and sprinkled 
with gray; his face clean-shaven, save for a 
thick, closely-cropped mustache, which lent to 
his face a look somewhat aggressive and for- 
bidding. “ The old fox ” was the name by 
which he had long ago been honored on the 
“ street.” Among his associates, he was uni- 
versally admired and envied; sometimes, when 
the occasion seemed absolutely to. demand it, 
even trusted — about to the distance of the 
nearest corner. 

On this particular morning, his desk, con- 
sidering its usual neat appearance, seemed to be 
somewhat in disorder. A dozen volumes from 
the office of the Railroad Commissioners, the 


io8 


PHAROS 


Town Reports of Bayport and Greenfield, many 
sheets of typewritten memoranda, other miscel- 
laneous papers In abundance — altogether the 
materials for much pondering were clearly 
present. And now their owner, having ab- 
sorbed as much of their contents as he desired, 
sat tilted back In his cushioned swivel chair, 
gazing meditatively forth at the ragged sky 
line of roof and weather vane and chimney top, 
his forehead wrinkled into a little frown, not at 
all of displeasure, but merely of deep and ear- 
nest thought. 

Presently he rose and walked over to the 
table, its polished surface, for the time being, 
completely hidden by some dozen maps, large 
and small, portraying the different street rail- 
way systems of the State. At these the ex- 
pert gazed long and critically, before he finally 
nodded, as If In confirmation of some previous 
judgment. “ A very pretty problem,” he mur- 
mured aloud; “very pretty, quite unusual, and 
with just enough difficulties to make It decidedly 
Interesting.” 

For some moments longer, he stood motion- 


WHITFIELD PLANS 109 

less, as if debating various matters in his mind; 
then leisurely resumed his seat, rang the bell 
for his clerk, and as the man entered, glanced 
up with a curt nod. “ Good-morning, Smith,” 
he said; “will you kindly ask Mr. William to 
step this way? ” 

Billy Whitfield sat in his own compartment 
of the office suite, tilted back in his chair at the 
angle of perfect comfort; a cigar revolving in 
the corner of his mouth, a smile of contentment 
on his rosy, unlined face. With him were his 
two bosom friends, Philip Holmes and Bartlett 
Anderson. The three, indeed, were generally 
to be found together, the term “ business 
hours ” being with all of them a phrase of some- 
what elastic meaning. 

Holmes was nominally a lawyer, but his in- 
come was ample, and he spent the greater part 
of his time in playing golf, boat racing, shoot- 
ing, and riding to hounds. He was tall and 
lank; his pleasant, smooth-shaven face tanned 
to the darkest of browns. His long legs deco- 
rated the top of Whitfield’s desk, and his eyes. 


no 


PHAROS 


keen and humorous, traveled slowly down the 
columns of the morning paper’s sporting page. 

Anderson, whose fortune was even more suf- 
ficient to his needs, was a short, red, stout 
young man, not over gifted with intellect, and 
good-humoredly aware of the fact. As he him- 
self tersely expressed the situation, “ I’m a fool, 
all right, but thank God, I’m wise to it.” His 
principal occupation was “ looking after his es- 
tate,” a beautiful country place some twenty 
miles from town; and here, at least, was some- 
thing which he did superlatively well. In 
many ways, he reminded one of a modernized 
and Americanized old English squire; blunt, 
conservative, practical; living from day to day; 
casting a suspicious eye on anything savoring of 
the arts, his whole soul bound up in horses, 
cows, and crops, and all the innumerable de- 
tails of keeping his place in order. Occasion- 
ally, officious friends had taken it on themselves 
to suggest, somewhat vaguely, that he ought to 
“ do something,” and to these he always made 
the same pleasant reply. “ Me do something,” 
he would repeat very gently. “ Why, If I did. 


WHITFIELD PLANS 


III 


rd only make an ass of myself — more so than 
usual, I mean. / didn’t choose the brains I was 
born with; If they’d asked me, I should probably 
have picked a different brand. But as long as 
they didn’t, I’ve got a mighty nice farm, I’m 
living In peace with my neighbors, I vote, pay 
my taxes, and keep out of rows. But If I ever 
started to ‘ do something,’ the Lord himself 
couldn’t tell where I’d fetch up, before I got 
through.” And since there was much of truth 
In what he said, and a pleasant candor In his 
way of saying It, his critics, after listening to 
his explanation, generally refrained from fur- 
ther suggestions regarding the way In which 
he should spend his time. 

Anderson was just finishing the story he had 
picked up at the club, the night before. Though 
lacking the faculty of creating humor, yet his 
appreciation of It was excellent, and In his many 
journeys from dinner to dinner, and from club 
to club, he was pretty sure to have the latest 
“ good ” story, the latest slang phrase, the re- 
frain of the latest song, all at his command. 
“ So this morning,” he was concluding, “ the 


II2 


PHAROS 


doctor had got pretty anxious about Jim, and he 
rides over to the cabin In a hurry. There’s the 
nurse, waiting for him at the door. ‘ Well,’ he 
says, ‘ and how’s Jim’s temperature this morn- 
ing? No higher, I hope? ’ The nurse stands 
and looks at him without cracking a smile. By 
and by she up and answers him, speaking slow 
and thoughtful, with a kind of a drawl. ‘ Well, 
Doctor,’ she says, ‘ I was kind of worrying about 
that same thing myself. You see — Jim died 
last night.’ ” 

Holmes, looking up from his paper, smiled 
his slow, humorous smile, while Billy laughed 
uproariously. “ Died last night,” he repeated, 
when he could speak. “ Oh, Gee, Bart, that’s a 
good one; that’s certainly a peach.” He cast 
a furtive look about the office, and lowered his 
voice a trifle. “ Say,” he said, “ I heard one 
the other day to beat that. Once there was a 
girl — ” 

A sharp tap sounded on the door, accompan- 
ied by the entrance of the decorous Smith. 
“ Mr. Whitfield would like to see you, Mr. Wil- 
liam,” he announced, and took his departure. 


WHITFIELD PLANS 113 

Billy rose with great promptness. ‘‘ Don’t 
hurry, you chaps,” he said; “ cigars in the top 
drawer, left hand side. I’ll be back pretty 
soon,” and he was gone. 

Holmes glanced at Anderson. “ Mr. Wil- 
liam,” he repeated; ‘‘ something kind of funny 
about that. Hey, Bart? ” 

Anderson nodded. “ Mr. William,” he re- 
peated in turn. “ Oh, Gee, yes, that’s funny, all 
right. Quite a lot of ballast for a light craft. 
I don’t see how he gets along with the Honor- 
able, anyway, if the old fellow w his uncle. I 
shouldn’t think Billy would suit for a damn.” 

If he had been able, however, to witness his 
friend’s entrance into the inner office, he might 
have grasped the secret of the mystery. For 
the simple act of crossing a threshold trans- 
formed a joyous, care-free and eminently self- 
satisfied young man into the “ Mr. William of 
office hours, serious, humble, and respectful to 
the verge of servility; an utterly reformed Billy 
Whitfield, whose combined dignity and desire 
to please would wholly have astonished his 
friends. And now he stood waiting, his gaze 


PHAROS 


114 

fixed upon his uncle’s face, until an invitation to 
be seated was presently forthcoming. For 
some moments, the Honorable Staunton sat 
eyeing him in silence; then asked pleasantly, 
“ Well, William, how are things going in Bay- 
port?” 

Billy tried hard to assume a cheerful air. 
“Oh, very nicely, sir,” he answered; “very 
nicely. Indeed. It’s quiet, of course, but awfully 
healthy. Fine air, and all that sort of 
thing.” 

An observant onlooker might have detected 
a faint twinkle of amusement In the Honorable 
Staunton’s eyes. But he merely observed, 
“ Yes, I understand the climate Is excellent. 
And you say It is very quiet, William? ” 

Billy nodded with conviction. “ Yes, jir/’ 
he responded, “ quiet’s the word. Why, you 
can’t tell the graveyard from the rest of the 
town; there’s just as much doing one place as 
another.” 

The Honorable Staunton pondered. “ I 
Imagine, William,” he said at length, “ that we 
are about to change all that. Is the name of 


WHITFIELD PLANS 


115 

the Bayport & Southern Street Railway, by any 
chance, familiar to you? ” 

On the instant, Billy recalled his conversa- 
tion with Dorothy Lawrence on the way home 
from the links. So the railroad, as he had 
surmised, was the cause of his presence in Bay- 
port. “Why, yes, sir,” he responded glibly; 
“ that’s what they’re all talking about around 
town. That, and how Seth Ellis’ pig got run 
over by an automobile.” 

His uncle showed evident signs of interest. 
“And what do they say? ” he queried. “ Re- 
ferring of course to the railroad, not to the 
pig-” 

Billy thought hard. “ Well,” he returned at 
length, “ as far as I can remember It, they talk 
like this. There’s a road going to be built, 
either through Bayport or through Greenfield, 
which Is the adjoining town. Both towns want 
it, and only one can get It, because there’s no 
room for two parallel lines. All the old farm- 
ers In Bayport hold stock in this Bayport & 
Southern Company, and of course they want 
to see their town win. But they don’t know 


ii6 


PHAROS 


whether the Legislature will grant them the 
franchise, or let Greenfield have it. If they get 
it, they say their stock will go booming; if they 
lose, it won’t be worth the paper it’s written on. 
I think that’s the situation, sir, as I hear it in 
Bayport.” 

The Honorable Staunton nodded approval. 
“ You have described it exactly, William,” he 
rejoined; “just a moment — let me show you 
on the map — ” 

He rose and walked over to the table, Billy 
obediently following. “ There,” he continued, 
pointing with his pencil to the largest sheet of 
all, “ that shows the present state of affairs. 
Two converging lines of road, with either Bay- 
port or Greenfield as the connecting link to 
the whole. What that means — well, I needn’t 
waste time on that, William. You can see for 
yourself.” 

Billy’s eyes glistened. “ I see,” he answered; 
“ it’s a cinch for one of them, isn’t it ? Just a 
question of two routes. If Bayport gets the 
plum, Greenfield gets the lemon; and vice versa. 
It’s a great game, isn’t it?” 


WHITFIELD PLANS 


117 

The Honorable Staunton led the way back 
to his desk. “ It is a very pretty fight, Wil- 
liam,” he admitted, “ and you can gauge the 
importance of the affair by looking at the stock 
market end of it. Neither stock has been 
quoted at anything higher than a dollar a share, 
for several years, but to-day Greenfield and 
Northern is selling at six and a quarter, and 
Bayport and Southern, which is popularly sup- 
posed to have the inside track, is nine and a half 
bid, with practically no stock offered near that 
figure. So it’s really a very pretty gamble — 
only a question of picking the winner, the road 
which the Legislature thinks possesses the best 
location — and it’s a very simple matter to 
make money. Merely a question of being on 
the Inside.” 

The guileless tone in which the last sentences 
were uttered might well have deceived anyone 
not Intimately acquainted with the Honorable 
Staunton. Billy, however, sat silent and ex- 
pectant, feeling sure that the fortunes of the Bay- 
port and Southern railway were probably very 
far from being the “ simple matter ” described 


PHAROS 


ii8 

by his uncle. And presently the financier con- 
tinued, “ I am interested in this whole affair, 
William, as you may have guessed; interested, 
I may say, to a very considerable .extent. 
Others are interested with me — men of means 
and of ability. We all have our part to play, 
and we have decided, after due deliberation, to 
include you in our councils; to assign to you, in 
fact a role which may prove to be of the utmost 
consequence. I am assuming, of course, that 
this meets with your approval? ” 

Billy, for perhaps the first time in his life, 
was struck nearly speechless with delight and as- 
tonishment. “ Yes, sir” he managed to ejacu- 
late; “ yes, indeed, sir. I should say it did.” 

The Honorable Staunton leaned forward in 
his chair, and spoke with impressive delibera- 
tion. “ Kindly pay attention, William,” he 
said, “ because this is of great importance. You 
are supposed to be delighted with Bayport; 
you think it’s the most beautiful spot on earth; 
winter or summer, it’s all one to you. As for 
Mrs. Stiggins’ boarding-house, you consider it 
second only to the Saint Regis or the Waldorf; 


WHITFIELD PLANS 


119 

if you heard a man say a word against the food, 
or criticize the heating facilities, you’d knock 
him down. In a word, Bayport is your very 
existence, William. Do you follow me?” 

Poor Billy felt that he had followed too far, 
and his attempt to retain an expression of good 
cheer was not conspicuously successful. He had 
never had his uncle’s political training. Yet he 
did his best, and his “Yes, sir; I understand 
perfectly, sir,” was a very fair imitation of 
genuine enthusiasm. 

“ Next,” continued the Honorable Staunton 
remorselessly, “ your greatest ambition in life 
is to serve the town by being elected to the 
Board of Selectmen. You are prepared to 
work incessantly, spend money, interview voters, 
make speeches, all to — I beg your pardon, 
William—” 

For Billy, utterly overcome, had made a 
choking sound of protest against his fate, and 
now, as his uncle paused, he exclaimed faintly, 
“Good God, sir! Me? Me a Selectman? 
And live in Bayport all my life — ” 

The Honorable Staunton seldom laughed. 


120 


PHAROS 


but he did so now, and with much enjoyment, 
at his nephew’s horrified expression. “ Excuse 
me, William,” he hastened to explain, “ I fear 
I have been a trifle abrupt. Let me make the 
situation clearer — ” 

Billy’s cheeks were gradually regaining their 
normal color. “ Yes, sir,” he murmured 
faintly ; “ the situation — clearer — yes, sir — ” 

“ It is like this,” his uncle continued; “ if the 
Legislature acts favorably on the Bayport peti- 
tion, it will then become necessary to obtain the 
consent of the Bayport Board of Selectmen. 
The Chairman of the Board, Deacon Hezekiah 
Wentworth, is a friend of mine, and he will 
surely support the road. Unfortunately, how- 
ever, we have reason to believe that Rogers, 
the other Selectman whose term holds over, may 
be a more difficult man to handle. And thus, 
for the third member of the Board, we must 
have a man who will be absolutely safe. The 
present incumbent, Mr. Michael Sweeney, has 
decided that his chances for re-election are slim, 
and he is to retire at the end of his term. Ac- 
cordingly, as things look now, that clears the 


WHITFIELD PLANS 


I2I 


way for you. You needn’t worry about your of- 
ficial duties; you won’t have to take them se- 
riously, because, as a matter of fact, the Bay- 
port Board of Selectmen is a one man affair, 
and Hezekiah Wentworth is the man. As 
soon as this railway matter is out of the way, 
you’re free to resign, and leave town whenever 
you please. But for the present, William, you 
must bend all your energies toward making 
yourself a popular person in Bayport. You will 
need money later, of course, and you shall have 
all you want. But for the present, go around 
and get acquainted with your future constitu- 
ents; establish friendly relations; as an old 
friend of mine used to put it, ‘ mix and licker ’ 
with them. I suppose fishing is their principal 
occupation. Why don’t you fish, William? ” 
Billy paled. With the wind from the sea, 
the aroma of the herring fleet enveloped Mrs. 
Stiggins’ boarding-house like a pestilence. 
Moreover he had stood on the wharves and 
gazed down into the lobster dories, laden with 
ghastly cod-heads to be used in baiting, and at 
the sight his stomach had writhed within him. 


122 


PHAROS 


So it took all his courage to answer, “ Yes, sir, 
I could fish, I suppose,” and then, suddenly re- 
membering, he added quickly, “ They shoot a 
lot, too. Sea ducks, you know, and that sort of 
thing.” 

“ Very well,” replied his uncle, “ go shooting, 
then. Anything to get in touch with the crowd. 
And I repeat once more, William, that this is an 
important matter, and I shall expect you to do 
your best.” 

Billy rose with alacrity. “ Indeed I will, 
sir,” he responded earnestly; “I’ll do every- 
thing I can. And I won’t delay, either. I’ll 
start and get busy, right away.” 

He had nearly reached the door when his 
uncle spoke again. “ Of course, William,” he 
said, “ you will remember one thing. Both in 
business and in politics, nothing is ever sure. I 
hope to see Bayport get the road, or I should 
not have laid the plans I have, but if we should 
lose, and the Greenfield crowd should win their 
fight, why we must accept defeat with philoso- 
phy. Legislatures, as you know, are uncertain 
things.” 


WHITFIELD PLANS 


123 


Billy, as he listened, could not help admiring 
his uncle’s gift of humor. The idea of Staun- 
ton Whitfield not knowing how the Legislature 
would act on the question of a street railway 
franchise was positively side-splitting; but he re- 
strained his mirth, discreetly answered, “ Yes, 
sir; I understand, sir,” and this time had his 
hand fairly on the latch when his uncle added 
a final word. “ As regards the value of these 
roads in the stock market, William,” he ob- 
served, “ that is another matter of uncertainty. 
I should not wish anyone to think that I fa- 
vored the purchase either of Bayport & South- 
ern, or of Greenfield & Northern, at the present 
time. The whole matter is too unsettled as 
yet. I should strongly advise keeping out of 
the market, William, altogether.” 

Billy’s expression was that of an injured 
cherub. “ Oh, really, sir,” he protested, “ I 
should never have thought of doing anything 
like that,” and forthwith took his leave, mana- 
ging to retain his pose of dignified self-posses- 
sion until the door had closed behind him. 
Then, in a flash, his whole bearing changed. 


124 


PHAROS 


His eyes grew bright with excitement, and a 
smile of happiness overspread his rosy face, for 
one of the dreams of his life had come true, 
and he was on the “ inside ” of a big deal at 
last. How best to use his knowledge was the 
one thought uppermost in his mind. “ Isn’t he 
the wise old guy, though? ” he reflected. “ He 
knows darned well that Bayport’s going to get 
that road. And yet he’s such a good business 
man that he won’t commit himself, in so many 
words, for fear someone might try to come 
back at him for giving them wrong advice. Oh, 
he’s a dandy, all right. ‘ We must accept our 
defeat philosophically.’ ‘ Legislatures are un- 
certain things.’ You couldn’t beat that if you 
tried. Why, it’s a cinch for Bayport; any fool 
could see that. If I don’t make a mint out of 
this, then my name is Mud.” 

Returning to his office, he found Holmes and 
Anderson seated as he had left them, their 
attitudes unchanged, except that Holmes had 
completed his reading of the paper, and was 
leaning lazily back, hands clasped about his 
knees, while Anderson had finished his cigar. 


WHITFIELD PLANS 


125 

and was lighting another, as Billy entered the 
room. 

Holmes looked up, smiling. “ Quite a con- 
fab,” he observed; “hope the old gentleman 
wasn’t lecturing you, Billy. Let’s have the 
story you were going to tell us. That’s what 
we’ve been waiting for.” 

But greatly to the surprise of both, Whitfield 
shook his head, and made straight for his desk. 
“ Not now,” he said shortly; “ there isn’t time. 
I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you chaps to get out 
of here. My uncle has just put me in charge 
of a whacking big deal, that’s going to keep me 
busy for the next six months. Sorry, but busi- 
ness is business. And this is a great chance; 
so of course I want to make good.” 

Both his friends stared at him, impressed, 
in spite of themselves, yet half doubtful as well. 
“ Ah, go on,” said Anderson at last, “ you’re 
stringing us.” And Holmes added, “ You’re a 
corker, Billy. If a fellow didn’t know you, 
you could make him believe black was white. 
But Bart and I are onto you. You can’t fool 
us, so don’t try to bluff.” 


126 


PHAROS 


Billy smiled — the tolerant, condescending 
smile of superior knowledge. “ You boys mean 
first-rate,” he answered easily, “ but of course 
you don’t understand these things. You’re all 
right in your way — both of you — but com- 
pared with a business man like myself, you’re 
only light-weights, you know — a big thing like 
this is too much for you to grasp. This takes 
brains — ability — skill — ” 

He sat regarding them coolly, while the 
twain, struck dumb with amazement at his 
effrontery, gazed, first at him, then at each 
other. Anderson was the first to find his 
tongue. “Will you listen to him?” he cried. 
“Hasn’t he the nerve? Billy Whitfield a busi- 
ness man ! Billy Whitfield talking about 
brains, and ability, and skill! And we’re only 
light-weights — we can’t understand — ” 

Words failed him. Holmes said nothing for 
some moments; then, shaking his head com- 
miseratingly, he tapped his forehead with the 
forefinger of his right hand. “ Sad,” he ob- 
served; “very sad indeed. I’ve read of such 
cases. But I never saw one before. There’s 


WHITFIELD PLANS 


127 


no danger, you know ; he’s not violent. Hallu- 
cinations — all that sort of thing. Still, it’s 
pathetic, just the same. And so young, 
too.” 

Billy reddened. “ Oh, shut up,” he cried, 
“ you think you’re funny. This is on the level, 
I tell you,” and then, as if seeking how best to 
convince them, he added impressively, “ Look 
here, do you fellows want a straight tip, right 
from the Inside? Or had you rather be funny, 
and go without? ” 

They grew serious at once. “ Oh, well, 
that’s different,” answered Anderson, and 
Holmes added, “ Why, yes, if you’ve really got 
anything like that, put us on. We thought you 
were only fooling.” 

“Well, I wasn’t,” Billy returned relentingly; 
“ I never joke. In business hours. It’s not dig- 
nified. And if I tell you this, I want you to 
promise you won’t repeat It to anyone. That’s 
understood, of course.” 

“ Oh, of course,” they chorused, and Billy, 
leaning forward, his face grave, whispered mys- 
teriously, “ This Is the dope. Buy Bayport and 


128 


PHAROS 


Southern. It’s in for a big rise, and you’ll make 
a lot of money. But don’t you tell a soul.” 

They stared back at him, as if uncertain 
whether to credit what he said. “ But look 
here, Billy,” rejoined Holmes, lowering his 
voice, as Whitfield had done, to a conspirator’s 
whisper, “ I thought all the talk was the other 
way. Why, I had a tip that the Greenfield and 
Northern crowd had the votes all pledged, al- 
ready. I got it so straight that I took a flier 
yesterday, and bought five hundred shares.” 

Billy, superbly scornful, gave his friend a 
withering glance. “ And haven’t you learned, 
by this time,” he demanded, “ that when the 
talk is all one way on a stock, that’s the time 
to get busy playing the other end? You’re 
pretty verdant, Phil. You want to sell that 
five hundred, right away, and lay in a nice little 
line of Bayport and Southern, instead. You 
won’t regret it; it’s a chance in a hundred, and 
you don’t want to let it go by. And now, 
gentlemen,” he added, with a conscious assump- 
tion of his uncle’s manner, “ I’m afraid you’ll 
have to excuse me, for I’m tremendously busy. 


WHITFIELD PLANS 


129 


Fve got to get a lot of things started right away. 
I’ll send you word when the worst of the rush 
is over, and if I should hear anything new in the 
meantime, I’ll let you know.” 

Too deeply impressed for further levity, they 
rose and took their departure. Whitfield, 
however, left alone in the office, seemed to be 
in no great hurry about “ starting things,” for 
after consulting a time-table of the Bayport 
trains, he placed upon his desk a card inscribed, 
“ Gone for the day,” and blithely took his 
leave. 

On his way to the station, he stopped at the 
office of Raymond and Allen, stockbrokers. 
Allen, the junior partner, was a young man, not 
many years out of college, yet cynical and blase, 
with the air of one who has drained the cup of 
life to the dregs. Billy pulled a chair up to his 
friend’s desk. “ Look here, sport,” he began. 
“ I want to play a sure thing. What’s the 
smallest margin you’ll carry me on?” 

Allen gave a sardonic grin. “ If it’s the cus- 
tomary sure thing,” he answered, ‘‘ I should 
say we’d like about twice the usual deposit. 


PHAROS 


130 

But you’d better tell me the whole story, Billy, 
and if there’s anything to it, why of course we’ll 
treat you right.” 

It was Billy’s turn to grin. “ Oh, of course,” 
he mocked; “that’s a broker’s main object in 
life. You’re all philanthropists. But if you’ll 
keep this to yourself, Ned, why I don’t mind 
putting you wise.” 

He leaned forward in his chair, and for some 
minutes talked rapidly. At the end of that 
time, he straightened up, and gazed triumphant- 
ly at his friend. “ So you can see,” he con- 
cluded, “ what a cinch it is. Why, there’s 
nothing to it; just a dead open and shut; that’s 
all. It’s really a shame to take the money.” 

Allen leaned back in his chair, reflected, con- 
sulted various files of market reports, and 
finally rejoined, “ Well, seeing it’s you, Billy, 
we’ll carry you on a four point margin. 
Though that’s stretching things, of course. 
We wouldn’t do it for an ordinary customer.” 

Billy groaned. “ Oh, what bluffs you chaps 
are,” he observed; “honestly, you make me 
sick. It’s punishment enough for gambling to 


WHITFIELD PLANS 


131 

have to associate with such a gang. Still, I’m 
going to give this a go,” and he drew a check 
from his pocket, hastily filled it out, and handed 
it to the broker. “ Buy me a thousand Bayport 
& Southern, at the market,” he said, and de- 
parted to catch his train. 

Allen looked after him curiously. ‘‘ I be- 
lieve he’s in right, for once,” he muttered, and 
filling out two slips of paper instead of one, he 
strolled over to the order clerk’s window. 
“ Buy two thousand B and S., at market, Mar- 
tin,” he said, and walked back to his desk. 

Billy, meanwhile, serenely happy, strode 
cheerfully along toward the station, repeating 
at intervals to himself, “ A cinch. A lead pipe 
cinch,” and already spending, in imagination, 
the profits to be soon forthcoming from the 
Honorable Staunton’s tip. 

If he could have been present, however, in 
his uncle’s office, about four o’clock, that same 
afternoon, and could have seen the Honorable 
Staunton and Deacon Hezekiah Wentworth 
seated together in earnest consultation, his con- 
fidence in the future might have received some- 


132 


PHAROS 


thing of a shock. The “ big man ” of the city 
and the “ big man ” of the town furnished an 
interesting study as they sat facing each other 
across the mahogany table. Outwardly, they 
presented a striking contrast; the capitalist 
fashionably dressed, carefully groomed, his 
smooth-shaven face ruddy with health, a young 
man still, despite his years; the Deacon clad 
in sober black, with clerical tie, broad, square- 
toed shoes, and benevolent side-whiskers redo- 
lent of respectability. Yet these outward differ- 
ences were more apparent than real; the ex- 
pression of both men, under the surface, was 
much the same; and a shrewd observer might 
well have hazarded the guess that the financier 
and the churchman had plenty of tastes in com- 
mon, after all. 

“ I saw my nephew this morning,’’ the Hon- 
orable Staunton had just observed, “ and he is 
perfectly willing to run.” 

Wentworth, almost as thrifty with words as 
he was with dollars, made no reply, and after 
a pause the capitalist continued, “ What are his 
chances. Deacon, for being elected? ” 


WHITFIELD PLANS 133 

The Deacon meditated; then answered 
guardedly, “ Pretty fair.” 

Whitfield frowned. He had expected a 
more enthusiastic response. “ Pretty fair,” 
he echoed sharply. “No better than that?” 
And then, as a shake of the head was the Dea- 
con’s only response, he queried again, “ Why 
not? ” 

Wentworth, for the first time, became 
loquacious. “ There’s a lot of the boys,” he 
responded, “ want Tom Nickerson to run.” 

Staunton Whitfield’s expression of displeas- 
ure deepened, and question and answer fol- 
lowed each other in rapid succession. 

“Nickerson? Who’s Nickerson?” 

“ Fisherman.” 

“ What do they want him to run for? ” 

“ Boys like him.” 

“Able?” 

“ Not especially.” 

“Honest?” 

“ Far as I know.” 

“ Will he run?” 

“ Think he will.” 


134 


PHAROS 


A pause. Then, “Anything he wants?” 

“ Not that I know of.” 

“ No way to stop him, then? ” 

“ Don’t think there is.” 

The Honorable Staunton pondered, sure sign 
of trouble for someone. At length he asked, 
“Why do they like Nickerson?” 

The Deacon again waxed diffuse. “ Nice 
feller,” he responded; “he ain’t a hog. Kind 
of an obligin’ sort of a cuss.” 

“ Ah,” was the Honorable’s only comment, 
and he pondered again. Then, “ Plenty of ex- 
citement, I suppose, in town, wondering which 
crowd’s going to get the road? ” 

“You bet there is,” the Deacon assented; 
“ they’ve called a meeting about it, in Light- 
house Hall, to try to make up their minds 
whether to sell their stock in Bayport & South- 
ern, or to stand pat, where they are. Oh, 
there’s excitement enough. No trouble about 
that.” 

Something in this information appeared to 
please the capitalist greatly. “ Ah,” was again 
his only comment, but his tone spoke volumes. 


WHITFIELD PLANS 


135 


and after a moment, he added with decision, 
Get Nickerson to make a speech in Lighthouse 
Hall, advising everyone to sell — have him tell 
them that Greenfield is going to get the fran- 
chise, and that Bayport stock is in for a dis- 
astrous break. Give this your best attention. 
Deacon, right away.” 

Wentworth’s expression seemed to indicate 
that he thought the capitalist was taking leave 
of his senses. “ Why, Nickerson wouldn’t do 
that,” he rejoined tartly; “never in God’s 
world.” 

“ Why not,” queried the Honorable Staun- 
ton, urbanely; “ I thought you said he was an 
obliging kind of a man? ” 

“ I did,” retorted the Deacon, “ but that 
don’t prove nothin’. A man can be obligin’, 
an’ still not be a darn fool.” 

For reply, the financier leaned forward, 
selected pen and paper, and wrote with care 
and deliberation. Then, as he blotted the page, 
he asked, “ Who is this lieutenant of yours, you 
think so much of? Savanarola? Tortoni? 
What is the man’s name? ” 


PHAROS 


136 

Th.e Deacon grinned. “ Guess you mean 
Torella,” he suggested; “ Sarvy Torella. He’s 
the feller I told you about.” 

The Honorable Staunton nodded. “That’s 
the man,” he said. “Give him this note; let 
him get at Nickerson his own way; but see that 
the note comes back to me at once or there’ll be 
trouble for Mr. Torella. Read It, Deacon; It 
may Interest you.” 

The Deacon read, and Immediately his ex- 
pression changed to one of the most unaffected 
amazement. For the first time In many years, 
he lapsed Into the vigorous and unregenerate 
speech of his boyhood, before he became a 
pillar of the church, and as he spoke, even his 
whiskers seemed to lose something of their odor 
of sanctity. Hell, you say!” he ejaculated. 
“ Why, I thought the road was cornin’ to Bay- 
port, sure as a gun.” 

The capitalist’s expression was Inscrutable. 
“ It’s hard to tell about things. Isn’t it? ” was 
his somewhat evasive answer, and Immediately 
he added, “ Well, Nickerson will make that 
speech, won’t he?” 


WHITFIELD PLANS 


137 

Wentworth nodded with conviction. “ Sure 
thing,” he assented; “ that’s strong enough for 
anyone. Pretty good authority to make a 
speech on, I should say.” 

The Honorable Staunton paid no heed to 
the compliment. “ See that he does it, then,” 
he commanded; then, less brusquely, “ I’ll keep 
you informed. Deacon; don’t give yourself any 
uneasiness. And if you’re not successful with 
Nickerson, let me know at once.” 

The Deacon rose. “ I’ll do my best, Mr. 
Whitfield,” he responded, and his tone seemed 
to convey the impression that Deacon Heze- 
kiah Wentworth’s best was very good indeed. 
After which, he took his departure, marveling 
at what he had heard, and leaving the Honor- 
able Staunton to ponder in peace. 


CHAPTER V 


BILLY MINGLES WITH THE NATIVES 

A nderson had completed the proc- 
ess of unpacking; sweater and 
rubber-boots, oilskins and cartridges, 
littered the floor of Mrs. Stiggins’ living room. 
With a shove of his foot, he kicked bags and 
suit-cases under the table, and began fitting his 
gun together. 

Billy extended his hand. “ Let’s look at her, 
Bart,” he said, and as Anderson complied with 
his request, he threw the gun to his shoulder, 
sighting swiftly at the lamp on the wall. “ She 
comes up nice,” he remarked, “ and I’ll bet 
she shoots hard, too. You’ll get some ducks 
with her, if you point her straight.” 

Anderson, without replying, rose, walked 
over to the window, and pulled aside the cur- 
tain. It was a perfect December night; a clear, 
cold moon shone high in the heavens, piercing 

138 


BILLY MINGLES 


139 


the naked branches of the trees, and patching 
the white ribbon of the road with quivering 
arabesque of light and shade. Through the 
loose sash, the wintry air crept penetratingly in. 
Anderson shivered and turned away. “ Billy,” 
he remarked with feeling, ‘‘ It’s going to be a 
damn cold morning.” 

Billy, living serenely in the present, drew 
closer to the stove. “ Oh, well, maybe It will 
warm up by then,” he suggested hopefully; 
“ anyway. It won’t be so bad after we’re once 
started. Getting up — that’s the worst of it. 
They say a cold bedroom Is healthy, but I 
know one thing — I’d trade mine, even, for a 
nice steam-heated flat.” 

Anderson, forsaking the frigid for the tem- 
perate zone, crossed the room and stretched out 
his hands towards the fire. “ I wonder If It’s 
going to pay us, Billy? ” he Inquired anxiously. 
“ I’d hate to freeze to death, just for the sake 
of a few old ducks.” 

Billy surveyed his friend’s robust proportions, 
not without envy. “ Oh, the devil,” he re- 
torted; you won’t freeze. You’re too blamed 


140 PHAROS 

fat,” but Anderson’s courage was clearly on the 
ebb. 

“Well, I don’t know, Billy,” he demurred; 
“ I’ve got my doubts about this trip. I wish 
you’d tell me the programme, and let me see 
what I’m really up against. I don’t want to die 
just yet. I’m too young, for one thing, and 
I’m not good enough, for another. So if you 
want me along for company, Billy, you’ll have 
to tell me what we’re going to celebrate.” 

Billy grinned. “ Why, the programme,” he 
answered, “ is delightfully simple. At four 
A. M., we hear the cheerful buzz of the alarm. 
Eager for the day’s sport, we leap from bed, 
descend with all possible speed to this region of 
comparative warmth, clothe ourselves, and pro- 
ceed to enjoy what the newspapers term a ‘ sub- 
stantial repast.’ Then — ” 

Anderson’s face had brightened visibly. 
“Ah, the eats,” he observed; “that’s the first 
pleasant thing you’ve mentioned, Billy. Do 
we get a good square feed?” 

“Do we?” echoed Billy. “Well, rather. 
A real old New England breakfast — that’s 


BILLY MINGLES 


141 


what we get. Milk and doughnuts and jelly- 
cake ; chocolate pie, mince pie, molasses 
cookies — ” 

Anderson, for the first time since his arrival, 
showed signs of enthusiasm. “ Fine I ” he 
ejaculated, “ Great! There’s nothing like start- 
ing the day right, is there, Billy? And what 
happens after the feed? ” 

“ Well,” rejoined Billy, “ there’s no use in 
deceiving you. Then comes the disagreeable 
part. We pile on all the clothes we haven’t 
on already, grab our guns, and hike it down to 
the beach. There’s no disguising it — that 
walk is bad. It’s the worst ten minutes in the 
whole trip. Then we launch our boat, row out 
into the bay, surround ourselves with a flock of 
wooden decoys, and when the ducks approach, 
we take a mean advantage of their trusting na- 
tures, and shoot as many of ’em as we can. 
Along about noontime, we come ashore, have 
dinner, loaf around the house in the afternoon, 
and in the evening attend the dance at the town 
hall. That’s what I call a darn good pro- 
gramme — the simple life, and yet not too 


142 


PHAROS 


simple. And if you back out, after IVe in- 
vited you down here, why then you’re a bluff, 
and all your talk about loving the country is 
nothing but rubbish. Come now, Bart, don’t 
be a quitter.” 

Anderson, instead of replying, sat staring at 
his friend — stared so long and so fixedly that 
Billy became restless. “Well,” he queried, 
“ what do you say? Will you go, or not? ” 

Anderson nodded. “ Oh, sure,” he re- 
sponded amiably, “ I’ll go, all right. I wasn’t 
worrying about that, Billy. I was just think- 
ing what a joke this is, anyway. For a fellow 
like you, who’s always lived in the city — who’s 
never seen the sun rise except when he was go- 
ing to bed — who either plays bridge or shows 
up at some function, every night of his life — 
to see you here ” — he waved his hand compre- 
hensively about the room — “ to have you going 
shooting, at four in the morning, and taking 
in dances at the Bayport Town Hall — why 
Billy, old man, it’s — well, damn it, you know, 
it’s preposterous — that’s what it is. It’s a 
knockout; it’s a scream.” 


BILLY MINGLES 


143 

Billy flushed. “ Oh, well,” he defended, 
“ it’s all up to the Honorable Staunton. If he 
wants me to do it, that settles it. There is a 
funny side to it. I’ll admit, but I can’t help that. 
I’d do anything to get in right with my uncle, 
to say nothing of picking up some coin on the 
side. Isn’t that right, Bart? ” 

“ Oh, sure,” Anderson agreed, “ you’ve got 
to do it. Still, it’s humorous, just the same. 
But look here, Billy,” he added, with an upward 
glance at the clock, “ if we’re going to start our 
day at four o’clock, and wind up at a dance in 
the evening, we’d better beat it for the hay, 
while we have a chance.” 

Billy rose, with a sigh. “ Yes, you’re right, 
Bart,” he replied, ‘‘ you’re always right. But 
if you knew what it was like upstairs, you’d cer- 
tainly hate to leave this stove behind. Come 
on, though; it’s got to be done,” and ten min- 
utes later, half smothered beneath blankets, 
quilts and comforters, they had sunk peacefully 
to sleep. 

Billy’s prophecies regarding the events of the 
morning proved correct. True to his predic- 


144 


PHAROS 


tion, the alarm exploded, with a frightful 
clamor, exactly on the stroke of four. Nor had 
he exaggerated the temperature of bed room 
and hallway; and two shivering, white-robed 
figures, each bearing aloft a flickering candle, 
came leaping down the stairs at breakneck 
speed. Huddled close to the friendly stove, 
they fairly flung themselves into their clothes, 
then foraged the refrigerator for their morn- 
ing meal, and proceeded to wreak fearful havoc 
on cookies, cake and pie. 

The next stage of their journey, however, 
was far more agreeable than they had imagined, 
and Indeed, after the first shock was over, they 
experienced a feeling of positive exhilaration. 
The morning was calm and still ; the moon had 
set; the stars shone clear and bright against the 
background of the dark. Far Inland, a cock 
crowed valiantly to greet the dawn. A faint 
white light was slowly spreading in the east; 
around them an invisible, intangible essence — 
the spirit of all living things — seemed hover- 
ing, spreading, each moment gaining In power, 
as if the whole vast earth, like themselves, had 


BILLY MINGLES 


145 

awakened, strengthened and refreshed, from 
a restful, dreamless sleep. 

Once arrived at the beach, they dragged their 
boat down to the water’s edge, crushing and 
grinding the pebbles beneath her keel, and 
launched her over the rim of kelp and sea-weed 
which fringed the shore. Then, to the steady 
dip-dip-dip of the oars, they rowed straight 
out to sea, until the outline of the land first grew 
dim, then vanished, and they seemed to be float- 
ing in space, with only an occasional flash from 
the lighthouse to guide them on their way. 

Presently Anderson broke the silence. 
“ Say, old sport,” he observed, “ this is all very 
fine, but how in blazes are we to tell where the 
ducks are coming from? How do we know 
where to anchor? Every part of this old Bay 
looks alike to me. They ought to set out some 
buoys and things, to show a fellow the way.” 

“ Yes, they ought,” Billy agreed. “ I was 
asking abopt that, up in town, a couple of nights 
ago, but I couldn’t seem to find out much. One 
old fellow said that you rowed right out and 
anchored on the line, but what on earth he meant 


PHAROS 


146 

by that, I don’t know. I suppose he was jolly- 
ing me. There couldn’t be any kind of a line 
out here, could there ? ” 

Anderson gazed around him into the dark- 
ness. “ Well, if there is, we’ll never find it,” 
he answered. “ I vote we wait right here, Billy, 
until we can see something. If we keep on 
rowing, we’ll get lost, first thing we know.” 

Billy drew in his oars. “All right, then,” 
he assented, “ we’ll anchor here; and I suppose, 
while we’re about it, we might as well set out 
the decoys. Then, if any birds come along, 
we’ll be ready for ’em.” 

One by one, they tossed the wooden ducks 
over the side ; then, anchoring, they loaded their 
guns, and sat straining their eyes through the 
gloom, eager for the first glimpse of their game. 
Inky blackness still enveloped them; the sun 
seemed to be a long time in rising; the minutes 
dragged intolerably. Presently a faint breeze 
struck from the northeast, and Anderson, with 
chattering teeth, shrank down into the bottom 
of the boat. “ B-r-r-r,” he shivered, “ this is 
great, Billy. I’d give a five dollar note to be 


BILLY MINGLES 


147 

home again. You’d never — hullo, what’s 
that?” 

Through the darkness, the sound of oars 
came faintly to their ears, and a moment later 
they could distinguish the shadowy outline of 
another boat, coming toward them. “ Some- 
one else after ducks,” remarked Billy; “he’d 
better look out and not spoil our shooting. I 
suppose, when he finds we’re here, he’ll sheer 
off and go somewhere else.” 

The oarsman, however, continued to ap- 
proach, and it soon became evident that instead 
of trying to avoid them, it was directly toward 
their boat that he was making his way. 
Presently they could make out an old, slab-sided 
dory, with a tall, lanky figure, seated amidships, 
rowing a remarkably vigorous stroke ' at the 
oars. Nor did their visitor slacken speed until 
he was nearly upon them, when he dexterously 
turned the dory, almost on her own axis, and 
without wasting time on the preliminary courte- 
sies of the morning, proceeded to hail them in 
a high-pitched and strident voice. 

“ Look a here,” he queried shrilly, “ what in 


PHAROS 


148 

the name o’ God do you think you’re doin’? 
Cornin’ out here an’ settin’ where you be? 
Ain’t you got no common-sense, nor nothin’ ? ” 
For some seconds, Billy sat speechless, in 
stupefied amazement. Then the blood rushed 
suddenly to his head, he leaped to his feet, and 
hastened to make eloquent and sarcastic re- 
joinder. “ Cut that out, old top,” he cried; 
“ I guess you haven’t any mortgage on this Bay. 
Has a fellow got to have a permit from you, 
before he can set decoys? Who the devil do 
you think you are, anyway ? ” 

A contemptuous grunt was the reply. “ You 
think you’re smart, don’t yer, young feller?” 
the shrill voice responded. “ Well, I’ll tell you 
this, right now. I ain’t got no mortgage on no 
Bay, but every feller that goes duckin’ out o’ 
Bayport Harbor sets on the line, an’ don’t you 
fergit it. There’s six boats there, this mornin’, 
already, and you’ve gone and set out plumb in 
front of ’em. You want to haul up your ’coys, 
an’ come back where you b’long, or else you’ll be 
gittin’ into trouble, mighty quick.” 

The gunner’s tone rang true, and in spite of 


BILLY MINGLES 


149 


himself, Billy wavered; but while he hesitated 
whether to comply or to stand his ground, the 
less impetuous Anderson put In a word. 
“ We’re strangers here,” he observed; “what’s 
all this talk about a line? How can you tie 
your boat to a line out here In the middle of 
the Bay? ” 

A hoarse chuckle penetrated the darkness. 
“ Hell, but you boys are green,” came the un- 
flattering response; “the gunnin’ line ain’t no 
line to tie to; It’s a ’magInary line. Bates’ flag- 
staff over Tower’s barn. My gran’father, he 
gunned on that line for sixty years; my father, 
he gunned on It for fifty an’ I’ve been goln’ It 
for pretty nigh forty, myself. So you young 
whippersnappers want to pick up, an’ move 
back, quick’s you can. There’s a berth Inside 
o’ SI Pratt, you can take. But you want to 
hurry. Birds’ll be flyin’ pretty soon.” The 
oars dipped again, and the dory receded In the 
darkness. 

Anderson shouted after him, “ Where is your 
old line, anyway? ” 

The gunner rested on his oars. “ ’Bout a 


PHAROS 


150 

quarter of a mile, straight to the east’ard,” he 
shouted back; “you can’t miss it. But you 
want to git a move on yer. You take that 
berth inside Si Pratt.” 

Silence reigned. At length, Billy heaved a 
sigh. “Well, damn his impudence,” he ejacu- 
lated. “ I suppose we’ve got to do it, Bart, but 
ril be hanged if I enjoy being ordered around 
by an old hayseed like that. I guess it can’t 
be helped, though. You row, and Pll take in 
these blamed decoys.” 

But the time the wooden ducks were once 
more piled neatly in the bow, the dawn was 
close at hand, and they could see the six boats 
lying at anchor on the “ ’magInary line,” each 
surrounded by its little flock of decoys. Billy 
removed his gloves, blew on his numbed fingers, 
and rejoined his companion at the oars. 
“We’d better hurry, Bart,” he said, “or we’ll 
miss the shooting. The ducks fly early, you 
know. What was it that old cuss said about 
a berth?” 

Anderson chuckled. “ He said there was a 
berth inside Si Pratt that we could have,” he 


BILLY MINGLES 


151 

replied, “ whatever that means. Sounds to me 
as if Si must be a cannibal.” 

Billy pondered. “ Oh, I know,” he sudden- 
ly exclaimed, “ a berth — that’s the position on 
the line, of course. And these chaps always 
say ‘ inside ’ when they mean * Inshore.’ ‘ A 
berth Inside SI Pratt,’ — that means that Pratt’s 
In the Inshore boat, and that we’re to go next 
to him. But how can we tell whether It’s a 
good place or not. Confound their rules and 
regulations, anyway. They make me tired. I 
don’t believe — ” 

“ Billy ! Billy I ” Anderson interrupted, in 
an agonized whisper, “ look at the ducks — 
look at ’em. Going right for old Hayseed 
there — what do you know about that — ” 

Billy turned, and overcome by his feelings, 
burst Into eloquent profanity. Their friend in 
the dory had regained his anchorage just In 
time to draw In his oars, seize his gun, and 
crouch low in the bottom of the boat, as a flock 
of a dozen big black sea-ducks came winging In 
from out to sea, straight toward the decoys. 
Whitfield and Anderson gazed, fascinated. 


PHAROS 


152 

Presently the birds set their wings, scaled grace- 
fully down within an easy gunshot of the dory, 
and made as if to light; then all at once seemed 
suddenly to change their minds, and flew on 
again, drawing compactly together in the air. 
Instantly the gunner rose to his knees, and 
threw his gun to his shoulder. There was a 
moment’s suspense — then the hollow “ plop I 
plop ! ” of the smokeless powder, and three of 
the flock folded their wings, and splashed heav- 
ily into the water, their earthly pilgrimage ab- 
ruptly at an end. Anderson cried out sharply. 
‘‘By Cricky!” he ejaculated, “old Hayseed’s 
some shooter, Billy, isn’t he? Didn’t he give 
it to ’em, though? ” 

But Billy’s thoughts were working in a differ- 
ent direction. “ Gosh darn his soul I ” he ex- 
claimed vindictively, “ I see what he’s up to, 
Bart. He’s got the best place — berth, or 
whatever it is they call it — that’s why he wants 
us to go inshore, where we won’t bother him, 
and won’t get any shooting, either. I’ll bet a 
dollar that’s his game. But we’re not as easy 
as he thinks we are; we’ll put a crimp in him. 


BILLY MINGLES 


153 

all right. We’ll go offshore of everybody, and 
the next flock that comes along like that, why 
we’ll get the first shot at ’em, and he’ll get left. 
See?” 

“ Sure thing,” Anderson assented with en- 
thusiasm. “You’ve got a great head, Billy; 
you’re all right. Gee, but I’d like to see a big 
bunch coming in to us. We wouldn’t do a thing 
to ’em; what? ” 

“ You betcher,” responded Billy, the ardor 
of the chase bringing the slang of his boyhood 
to his lips, “ we’d sting ’em good. Let’s dig 
now, Bart, and get ready before any more come 
along. We’re going to have some fun, be- 
fore we’re through.” 

Accordingly, they “ dug ” with all their 
might, and under their vigorous strokes their 
boat was soon occupying the offshore position 
among the little fleet. “ Now then,” Billy 
cried, “ you get the decoys over, quick, and I’ll 
do the rowing. Guess they can’t find any fault 
with us now, confound ’em. They’re a fussy 
old gang of sea-lawyers; that’s what they are.” 

The words, however, had scarcely passed his 


PHAROS 


154 

lips when their lanky neighbor hailed them once 
more. “ Hey, there ! ” he shouted, “ git 
further offshore.” He pointed one long arm 
to make his meaning clear. “ Offshore,” he re- 
peated; “ you ain’t fur enough out.” 

Billy became almost inarticulate. With a 
jerk, he pulled in the oars, and leaped quickly 
to his feet. “ What’s the matter now,” he 
cried, in no uncertain tone; “ aren’t we on your 
blamed old line? Didn’t you tell us this was 
the place to come? ” 

But the gunner appeared in no wise discon- 
certed. “ Sure you’re on the line,” he shouted 
back, “ but you ain’t took a fair berth. You 
ain’t more’n a gunshot away from me, now. 
You want to go ’bout twice as far, straight off- 
shore. Then you’ll be all right.” 

Anderson stood hesitating, a decoy poised 
in either hand. “ Well, what shall we da, 
Billy? ” he asked. “ Move again? ” 

Billy resumed his place at the oars, his face 
flushed, his usually placid brow contracted. 
“Move? Not on your tintype,” he retorted 
angrily, “ that old fool would keep us moving 


BILLY MINGLES 


155 

all day, if he could. No, sir, we stick right 
where we are, and if he doesn’t like it, he can 
go to blazes. Sling over the decoys, Bart, and 
we’ll anchor.” 

Anderson complied, and the man in the dory 
making no further protest, they proceeded to 
settle themselves comfortably in the bottom of 
the boat, waiting with impatience for another 
flock to appear. Presently Anderson reached 
for his gun. “ Gosh, Billy,” he cried, “ here’s 
all creation coming; and straight for us, too.” 

Billy thrust the muzzle of his gun over the 
rail, and crouched still lower in the boat; then 
looked eagerly for the ducks, and as he saw 
them, gasped. A flock of at least a hundred, 
strung out in a wide, irregular crescent, was 
bearing straight down upon them, not more 
than a dozen gunshots away. So steady was 
their course, indeed, and so swift was their 
flight, that they were almost within range be- 
fore they even caught sight of the decoys. 
What followed was kaleidoscopic in its effect. 
The older birds, scenting danger, kept on, veer- 
ing quickly out to sea; the younger ones, less 


PHAROS 


156 

experienced in the dangers of the southward 
voyage, turned, wheeled, dipped and fluttered 
in a dozen different directions, in their haste to 
alight among the decoys. The whole air 
seemed filled with ducks. Billy rose to his 
knees, and sighted quickly at the nearest; but 
as he did so, another crossed his line of vision, 
and he swung on the latest comer instead. 
Then, seized with a kind of “ buck fever ” he 
kept pointing his gun at bird after bird, but 
without the will to pull the trigger, until the 
report of Anderson’s twelve gauge brought him 
to his senses, and he discharged both barrels 
so rapidly that he took no aim at all, and sent 
both loads of shot into the empty air. Ander- 
son had done no better, and as they fumbled 
hurriedly for fresh cartridges, they had the 
crowning mortification of seeing some half 
dozen stragglers, who had splashed in among 
the decoys, take wing, and fly stolidly past the 
boat, so close that the gunners could see their 
eyes, and note the broad patches of white on 
their wings. By the time they had reloaded 
their guns, the last bird was safely out of shot, 


BILLY MINGLES 


157 

and they were left staring blankly into each 
other’s faces, disconcerted and ashamed. 

The whole fleet appeared to take a kindly 
interest in their performance. The query as 
to how many they had killed was passed along 
from boat to boat, and their friend in the dory 
obligingly communicated the details to the rest. 
“ Get any? ” they heard him shout. “ No, not 
a damn duck. Guess they was too excited. 
Near enough? Oh, God, yes, they was tryin’ 
to fly into the boat. I never see worse shootin’ 
in my life; somethin’ fierce. No, I don’ know 
who they be; couple of greenhorns, I reckon. 
Anyhow, they act that way.” 

Billy gritted his teeth, yet the fortune of war, 
at least for the time being, seemed to be with 
the enemy; no fitting retort came to hand. But 
presently their chance to redeem themselves ap- 
peared, in the shape of a trio of ducks, flying 
close to the water, in Indian file, half way be- 
tween their decoys and those of their rival in- 
shore. Billy, with glaring eyes and com- 
pressed lips, waited until it was evident that 
the birds had no intention of altering their 


PHAROS 


158 

course, then brought his gun deliberately to his 
shoulder. So intent was he, indeed, on mak- 
ing a successful shot, that he failed to allow 
for one trifling circumstance — at the moment 
he pressed the trigger, their neighbor in the 
dory was brought directly Into range. Ander- 
son foresaw the result, and strove to anticipate 
It by giving vent to an Involuntary yell of alarm. 
But he was too late. “ Bing! Bing! ” spoke 
Billy’s ten bore, the ducks flew on, unscathed, 
and in the vicinity of the dory there sounded a 
sharp and sudden rattle, like the beating of 
hailstones on a cottage roof. “ Judas Priest, 
Billy,” cried Anderson, “ you’ve done It now.” 
There was a moment of brooding, ominous si- 
lence, and then their adversary rose majestically 
to his feet, shaking his clenched fist In the air. 
“Jumpin’ Jerusalem!” he began, the shrill 
voice at least an octave higher than usual In the 
scale; and then, as If realizing that his words 
were wholly inadequate to the occasion, he 
stopped short, and began again, in a nobler 
strain. “ Hell an’ damnation ! ” he shrieked, 
and for the next five minutes held forth, graphic- 


BILLY MINGLES 


159 

ally and in language quite unfit for print, 
on the subject of the offshore boat, sketching in 
vivid outline the lives of its occupants, their 
antecedents, their characters, and their ultimate 
destination, upon their decease. 

At length he subsided, and resumed his seat. 
Anderson turned to his companion. “ Billy,” 
he observed, “ you’re certainly the limit. 
Peppering a man full of bird shot like that. 
Who could blame him for getting mad? That 
was the devil of a thing to do.” 

Billy nodded with unusual meekness. “ I 
know it was,” he admitted; “my mind was on 
the ducks; I never thought about Mark Antony 
there being in the way. And I’ll say this much, 
too,” he added generously: “I don’t like that 
old geezer, and his voice gets on my nerves, 
but I’ll give him credit for being as good a 
cusser as I ever heard. I can’t remember any- 
one — not even when we were in college — that 
could swear any better than he did. Why, con- 
found him, he made me feel like an amateur; 
he’s a peach.” 

“Yes,” Anderson agreed, “he can certainly 


i6o 


PHAROS 


sling the English. He’s beaten us swearing, 
and beaten us shooting, too. The next bunch 
that comes, Billy, we’ve got to get a duck. We 
can’t go home skunked.” 

Billy was gazing fixedly toward the west- 
ward. ‘‘There’s a flock now,” he said; “see 
’em? Way up there, off the beach? ” 

Anderson studied the horizon. “ That’s not 
a flock,” he objected; “that’s a lonesome one. 
You can’t call one bird a flock.” 

Billy snapped open his gun to make sure that 
he had reloaded it, then glanced up again at the 
approaching duck. “ You’re right,” he ac- 
quiesced, “but don’t you care; It makes our 
chances better. That was the trouble with the 
first bunch — there were too darn many of ’em 
— we’ll concentrate on this fellow, and knock 
the stuffing out of him.” 

Anderson surveyed the oncoming bird with 
some misgivings. “ He seems to be coming 
just as the three did,” he observed anxiously. 
“ For Heaven’s sake, Billy, don’t shoot any- 
body this time.” 

“ No danger,” retorted Billy, “ the others 


BILLY MINGLES i6i 

were flying close to the water. This chap’s 
away up in the air. We couldn’t hit old Hay- 
seed, if we tried.” 

Nearer and nearer came their quarry, all un- 
conscious of the danger awaiting him; his neck 
outstretched, his wings beating the air with 
swift, powerful strokes. Keeping straight on 
his course, he passed midway between the two 
boats, but as Billy had predicted, so high in the 
air that all danger of “ peppering ” their neigh- 
bor was averted. The critical moment had 
come; it was evident that the game would ap- 
proach no nearer. Billy rose hastily to his 
knees. “Soak him, Bart I Soak him!” he 
shouted, and together they levelled their guns 
and fired. “ Bing I Bing I ” sounded their 
right-hand barrels; “Bing! Bing!” echoed 
their lefts. The duck crumpled in the air, as 
if struck by lightning. His long neck jerked 
back over his body, his wings relaxed, and with 
a splash he fell, stone-dead, into the quiet waters 
of the Bay. 

Billy leaped forward, with a whoop of 
triumph, to cast off the buoy. “ Hurray for 


i 62 


PHAROS 


us,” he cried; “ who says we can’t shoot ducks? 
Get out your oars, Bart; we’ll go pick him 
up.” 

Anderson obeyed; then, throwing a glance 
over his shoulder to ascertain the direction, he 
gave a start of surprise. “ What the devil does 
that mean, Billy? ” he exclaimed. “ Old Hay- 
seed’s rowing, too.” 

Such, indeed, was the case. Their neighbor 
had tossed his buoy over the side, and was row- 
ing slowly toward the dead bird. Billy rubbed 
his eyes In bewilderment; then choked with rage. 
“By Gosh!” he ejaculated, “If that doesn’t 
beat the devil. That old chap’s a regular 
pirate. Going to steal our bird. We’ll stop 
him, though. Give It to her, Bart; we’ll get 
there first,” and thrusting out his oars, they 
swept forward toward their prize. 

But their rival was not to be outdone. 
Quickening his pace In turn, he made the dory 
fairly jump, and the distance between the two 
boats decreased with the utmost rapidity. Both 
reached the goal at the same moment; both were 
going too fast to stop; and at the same instant 


BILLY MINGLES 163 

Billy and the “ Hayseed ” drew in their oars, 
and leaned forward to grasp the duck. There 
was a mighty crash, as the boats collided; for 
a moment, they careened dangerously, then 
righted themselves; and behold, so close had 
been the race, that Billy found himself grasp- 
ing one wing of the duck, his antagonist the 
other, while their crimsoning faces were almost 
touching across the rail. 

Billy, thoroughly enraged, was the first to 
speak, his voice sounding utterly unlike his own. 
“ Let go my duck,” he hissed; “ let go my duck, 
or I’ll smash your face in.” 

But the villager only tightened his grip. 
“Your duck be damned,” he squeaked; “you 
couldn’t hit a duck in a month o’ Sundays. I 
killed that feller. You folks fired at him right 
after I did, but you never touched him. So 
leggo of him, ’cause he’s mine.” 

If it be true, indeed, that possession is nine 
points of the law, the advantage in the struggle 
suddenly shifted to the stranger, for altering his 
hold on the duck, he gave such a mighty pull 
that a second later, Billy found himself hold- 


PHAROS 


164 

ing desperately to one wing, wrenched off 
in the fray, while the gunner, with a snort of 
triumph, tossed the remainder of the bird into 
his dory’s stern. 

For an instant, Billy sat motionless, a figure 
midway between the ridiculous and the tragic, 
still grasping the wing of the innocent victim, 
whose blood was spattered freely over Billy’s 
face. Then, utterly losing control of himself, 
he reached for the first weapon in sight, which 
happened to be the boat’s tiller, and screaming 
frantically to Anderson, “ Hold on to his boat, 
Bart; hold on to his boat,” he leaped to his feet, 
and smote his antagonist a vigorous blow in the 
ribs. 

Immediately retribution followed. The 
gunner had jumped up in a twinkling, boat hook 
in hand, and first swinging it as if to use it as a 
cudgel, he suddenly shifted his plan of attack, 
and lunging forward as if executing a bayonet 
drill, caught Whitfield fairly in the pit of the 
stomach. 

There was no withstanding such an on- 
slaught. Billy, with an agonized grunt, stag- 


BILLY MINGLES 165 

gered backward, lost his footing, and fell, his 
head striking smartly on the rowboat’s rail, a 
trail of fiery meteors circling and whirling be- 
fore his eyes. Then, like a shot, the victor 
turned on Anderson, and though Billy’s friend 
stood his ground nobly, and dodged the attack 
as best he might, at length a shrewd stroke 
caught him squarely on the thumb, and his yell 
of pain marked the conclusion of the battle. 
Yet tragedy might still have been added to 
comedy, for Billy, rising dizzily to his feet, and 
half drunk with rage, had actually reached for 
his gun, when a third boat shot between those 
of the combatants; a voice called, “Well, what 
you folks celebratin’, anyway? ” and Billy, com- 
ing to himself with a gasp, laid down his wea- 
pon, and found himself confronted by the stal- 
wart figure of Tom Nickerson. 

The gunner from Bayport was the first to 
answer the question. “ These fellers was goin’ 
to take my duck — ” he began, but Billy, still 
angry enough for anything short of murder, 
cut in, “ Nothing of the sort. We killed the 
duck, and this man comes along and swipes it. 


1 66 PHAROS 

I never knew such nerve in my life. He thinks 
he owns the ocean, too — ” 

Here the possessor of the duck struck in once 
more. “ That’s about enough o’ that cheap 
talk, young feller — ” he began, when Nicker- 
son himself took a hand in the discussion. 

“ Oh, come, now,” he said mildly,” I wouldn’t 
have no hard feelin’s ’bout a duck. ’Tain’t 
wuth it. But you ought to be able to tell who 
shot him, anyway. Let’s see him, ’Bije.” 

The gunner reached toward the stern of his 
dory, picked up the mangled body of the victim, 
and tossed it to Nickerson, who caught it 
adroitly, at the same time asking, “ Which way 
did he come? From the west’ard, I suppose.” 

“ That’s what he did,” responded Billy’s an- 
tagonist. 

“ Sure thing,” echoed Billy; and Nickerson 
proceeded to place the duck in the attitude of 
flight, with head pointing to the east; then, after 
a moment’s investigation, he turned to Billy. 
“ ’Bijah’s duck, Mr. Whitfield,” he said; “ ain’t 
no doubt of that at all. You look a’ here.” 

That side of the bird which had been toward 


BILLY MINGLES 167 

Whitfield when the shots were fired was un- 
marked, while on the other side, just back of the 
neck, there was a gaping hole, the soft feathers 
stained and matted with blood. The deduction 
was so apparent as to leave no room for argu- 
ment, and even Billy made no protest as Nicker- 
son tossed the bird back into the dory, and the 
victorious ’Bijah, with a satisfied grin on his 
hairy face, rowed slowly back toward his an- 
chorage. 

In the rowboat, gloom prevailed. Billy, be- 
ginning to experience the reaction from his fit of 
rage, sat limp and white on the forward thwart, 
feeling guardedly of his head, which was throb- 
bing painfully. Anderson, in the stern, nursed 
his injured thumb, heroically refraining from 
speech, but with the liveliest agony depicted on 
his features. Nickerson regarded them with 
sympathy. “Too bad, boys,” he condoled; 
“ guess ’Bijah was a mite too rough, even if 
’twas his duck. I tell you what you do. You 
pick up them ’coys o’ your’n, an’ I’ll give you a 
tow home, an’ get my wife to give you a bite 
of breakfast. Cup of hot coffee goes good on 


1 68 PHAROS 

a morning like this. What do you say? 
Give it a try? ” 

No invitation ever received a more prompt 
acceptance. The thought of breakfast would 
have been sufficient, but joined to this was an 
earnest desire to get out of range of ’Bijah’s 
caustic tongue ; and hastily hauling in the decoys, 
they made fast the rope which Nickerson threw 
them, and a moment later were being towed 
rapidly along toward Bayport Harbor. 


CHAPTER VI 


BILLY CONTINUES TO MINGLE 

A S Billy and Bart left the “ line ” be- 
hind them, their spirits began to 
mend. The day itself made for 
cheerfulness. The sun, now fairly risen, began 
to diffuse a genial warmth; the blue water 
stretched away to the eastward, far as the eye 
could see; inshore, the village, with Its white- 
walled houses, its harbor, its fleet of boats, 
gave the needed touch of human activity and 
companionship. Billy, reclining at full length, 
his feet gracefully decorating the rowboat’s 
rail, heaved a sigh of contentment, and gave 
vent to what for Him was a genuine burst of 
poetic feeling. “ Hot stuff, Bart,” he ob- 
served; “back to Nature, and all that kind of 
thing. Damn the ducks. We’ll leave ’em to 
old Hayseed. This Is better fun, any day.” 
Anderson, possibly owing to his twinging 
169 


170 


PHAROS 


thumb, was hardly able to attain such lyrical 
heights. “ Sure, this is great,” was the extent 
of his contribution, but he added longingly, 
“Think of the eats, Billy; think of the 
eats.” 

“ Well, don’t get your hopes too high,” Billy 
cautioned; “Nickerson’s wife is quite young, 
you know; probably she can’t cook for a darn. 
But I’ll tell you one thing, Bart,” he supple- 
mented, “ she’s mighty easy to look at. Pretty 
as a picture, and a perfectly ripping figure. It 
beats me how she ever married that — ” and 
he motioned contemptuously toward Nickerson 
— “ a damn shame, I call it, for such a good 
looking girl. I only wish — ” 

But whatever the wish might have been, he 
did not complete it aloud. Anderson frowned 
uneasily, for being somewhat old-fashioned in 
his views, he punctiliously observed respect for 
all women, and it appeared to him that Billy’s 
attitude toward both their host and his wife 
was decidedly unbecoming. Yet knowing the 
futility of remonstrance, he held his tongue, 
and presently, passing the Buckthornes and the 


BILLY MINGLES MORE 17 1 

Suttons, the island lay before them; Nickerson 
shut off his power; and both dory and rowboat 
grounded gently against the slope of the 
beach. 

Immediately, the door of the cottage burst 
open, and a little boy, flanked on either side by 
a frisking puppy, came toddling down the path, 
his arms outstretched toward his father. 
“ Daddy, daddy,” he cried, and Nickerson, 
stepping quickly ashore, caught him up in his 
arms and held him high above his head, while 
the boy kicked and struggled, shrieking with 
delight, his golden curls shining in the sun- 
light, his big brown eyes dancing with merri- 
ment. But when Nickerson, with fatherly 
pride, bade him “ say good-morning to the 
gentlemen,” he became suddenly mute, and 
burying his head on his father’s shoulder, 
peered shyly forth, finger in mouth, at the mys- 
terious strangers. Nickerson turned to his 
guests. “ Come on up to the house,” he said, 
“ and we’ll give you something to eat. Like 
as not Edith’s seen us coming, and got things 
all ready for us. So come right ahead.” 


172 


PHAROS 


His guess proved correct, and five minutes 
later they were seated at the kitchen table, de- 
vouring codfish steaks, baked beans and cof- 
fee at a rate which kept Edith Nickerson busy 
looking after their wants. The meal was eaten 
for the most part in silence, for Nickerson, with 
a long day’s fishing still ahead of him, was 
anxious to set forth again, while Anderson, 
finding the food to his liking, and with his ap- 
petite sharpened by the morning air, was too 
busy to waste valuable time in conversation, 
Billy, the connoisseur in feminine loveliness, was 
the only one of the three whose mind was not 
on his breakfast, and casting many a covert 
glance at Edith Nickerson as she passed to 
and fro about the room, he soon came to the 
pleasant conclusion that she was even prettier 
than he had thought, from their casual meet- 
ing on the night of the sermon in the Town 
Hall. To himself, he kept up a running com- 
ment, appraising her various charms with the 
skill of long and varied experience. She’s 
really a pippin,” he mused; “bully eyes, nice 
hair, a corking mouth, and golly, what a shape. 


BILLY MINGLES MORE 


173 


Carries herself well, too; and by Jove, what a 
smile. Come, old scout, this looks interesting; 
better map out your campaign, while you have 
a chance. Pretty I Gee, where have my eyes 
been? Pretty isn’t the word for it. She’s a 
beauty, that’s what she is; she’s a peach. 
And what in blazes could she see in Nickerson. 
Hullo, feed’s over, confound it — ” 

For while he was thus meditating, Nicker- 
son had pushed back his chair and had begun 
pulling on his oilskins. “ Now then, gentle- 
men,” he asked, “what’s it going to be? I’ve 
got to go off to the Tree Ground to haul a 
string of pots, but I’ll tow you over to the har- 
bor first, if you say so. Or I’ll fetch you back 
to the line, so’s you can see ’Bijah, or better 
yet. I’ll set you out off Gull Ledge, all by your- 
selves, and you’ll get some good shooting ’fore 
dinner time, and I’ll stop on my way in, and 
pick you up. Anything you say. All you’ve 
got to do is to make your choice.” 

Anderson spoke up quickly. “ Gull Ledge 
sounds good to me,” he replied; “I wouldn’t 
go near that fiend with the boat hook and the 


174 


PHAROS 


whiskers again for a thousand dollars, but a 
quiet little shoot by our lonesomes would just 
about fill the bill. What say, sport? ” 

But Whitfield shook his head. “ I’m sorry,” 
he answered, “ but to tell the truth, I don’t feel 
quite up to It. That old pirate whacked me 
pretty hard, and I’m just beginning to feel the 
effects now. But I wouldn’t spoil your fun for 
anything, Bart. You let Mr. Nickerson tow 
you out, and If I won’t be In the way, I’ll just 
loaf around the Island here, and sit In the sun, 
till you come back. Probably I’ll feel better 
by that time.” 

Nickerson rose. “ Sure thing,” he re- 
sponded heartily; “make yourself right at 
home. And you’ll excuse me for hurrying off, 
but I’ve got a lot to do. Come on, Mr. An- 
derson; I’ll fit you In a place where you’ll have 
a dozen shots before twelve o’clock, or I’m a 
liar. Good-by, Edith; back about noon,” and 
with Anderson at his heels, he went striding 
down the path, while Billy, lighting a cigar, 
strolled away toward the cliffs to the eastward 
of the house. 


BILLY MINGLES MORE 175 

As Nickerson pushed the dory’s bow from 
shore, he gave a sudden exclamation. “ There, 
I forgot,” he cried; “just a minute, Mr. An- 
derson,” and once more dropping the anchor, 
he hurriedly retraced his steps to the cottage. 
“ How’s the old gentleman, Edith? ” he asked, 
“ I clean forgot about him, havin’ these folks 
come home with me like this. Is he feelin’ any 
better to-day? ” 

Edith Nickerson shook her head. “ No, 
he’s worse than ever,” she answered; “ that last 
book — ‘ Shopping Hour,’ or some name like 
that — was too much for him. He wouldn’t 
eat his breakfast, and he’s gone over on the 
rocks to finish reading it. There’ll be no liv- 
ing with him, by night.” 

Nickerson sighed. “ Too bad,” he replied. 
“ I thought he acted yesterday as if he had one 
of his times coming on. Still, he’ll get over it, 
I suppose, after a while. Cheer him up if you 
can, Edith,” and he hastened away again for 
the beach. 

In the meantime Billy, as he sauntered along 
toward the cliffs, frowned to himself as he re- 


176 PHAROS 

viewed the events of the morning. His shoot- 
ing trip had scarcely resulted as he had planned 
it, and he was dreaming vengefully of “ getting 
square ” with the pugnacious ’Bijah, until a still 
more unpleasant thought drove the memory of 
his personal humiliation from his mind. For 
in the excitement of the struggle, he had com- 
pletely forgotten what the real purpose of the 
expedition had been, and now it suddenly flashed 
upon him that besides acquiring a bruised 
stomach and an aching head, he had made a se- 
rious tactical blunder by incurring the wrath of 
’Bijah, and very likely of the entire “ line ” as 
well. And as the enormity of what he had done 
became clearer to him, he could feel himself 
flushing with mortification. “ What a fool,” he 
cried aloud; “what an ass I’ve been. Uncle 
Staunton said to make friends of these guys, 
and look at the way I’ve done it. Gee, what a 
rotten break; I’ll have to square myself some- 
how. Well, the next old fossil I meet. I’ll treat 
as smooth as silk; just see if I don’t. Hullo, 
who the devil’s this? Here’s one of ’em, 
now — ” 


BILLY MINGLES MORE 177 

As he spoke, he had reached the top of the 
cliff, and to his surprise discovered in front of 
him an elderly native, seated with his back 
against a rock, and gazing intently out to sea, 
a book lying open across his knees. He made 
no response to Billy’s “ good-morning,” but re- 
garded him for some moments in silence, and 
then gravely inquired, “ Young man, do you be- 
lieve in God? ” 

Unhappy Billy! If his mind had been more 
on the Nickerson family, and less on his own 
troubles, he might perhaps have remembered 
what Dorothy Lawrence had told him concern- 
ing old Jim Nickerson and his ways, but as it 
was, the stranger’s identity never so much as oc- 
curred to him, and there was something so ven- 
erable in his appearance, and such a ring of sin- 
cerity in his tone, that Billy felt sure he had 
come across either a minister, or failing that, at 
least an elder or deacon of the church. There- 
fore, with his newly made resolve fresh in mind, 
he answered blandly, “ Oh, yes, indeed, sir. I 
should rather say I did,” and then, harking 
back to his boyhood’s days, when attendance at 


178 PHAROS 

Sabbath school had been compulsory, he added 
confidently, “ and the means of grace, you know 
— and the hope of glory — and all such things 
as that.’’ 

The stranger’s expression did not alter in the 
slightest. For some moments, he continued to 
stare fixedly at Whitfield ; then uttered the single 
disconcerting monosyllable, “Why?” 

Immediately Billy experienced the unpleasant 
shock of the victim who has walked unguardedly 
into a trap. Yet it was still possible, he re- 
flected, that the old gentleman might be merely 
seeking for information, and even if he should 
turn out to be an unbeliever, it was now unfor- 
tunately too late for Billy to shift his ground. 
In any event, the question was certainly an open 
one, and he therefore responded glibly, and with 
an effort at sanctimonious reproof in his tone, 
“Why? Because the Bible says so.” 

At once the old man’s calm deserted him. 
His eyes gleamed, and he sawed the air with one 
bony arm. “ Bible ! ” he shouted, “ don’t you 
talk no Bible to me. It’s nothin’ but a pack o’ 
lies. Do you b’lieve Adam was made out o’ 


BILLY MINGLES MORE 179 

dust, an’ Eve was made out o’ one o’ Adam’s 
ribs? B’lieve the ravens fed ’Lijah? Do you 
b’lieve Joshuay made the sun stand still? Do 
you stand for that Jonah stuff, that any sea- 
farin’ man could tell you was all humbug, from 
beginnin’ to end? No, sir, don’t you talk Bible 
to me. You show me a man that takes stock in 
them stories, an’ I’ll show you a goldarn fool.” 

Billy reddened. The attitude of these rustics 
toward the nephew of the Honorable Staunton 
Whitfield appeared to him to be inappropriate 
in the extreme. Yet since the controversy was 
begun, he concluded that to keep on fighting was 
better than to beat an inglorious retreat, and 
therefore retorted, “ Oh, I wasn’t talking about 
the Old Testament at all. That is confusing, in 
spots. But I meant the New Testament. If 
you read that carefully, why it makes every- 
thing clear.” 

The old man fairly snorted his defiance. 
“ Clear! ” he ejaculated. “ Oh, sure; clear as 
mud. How ’bout the ’Maculate Conception? 
Ain’t that a likely story, to start with ? An’ how 
’bout the miracles, an’ bringin’ the dead to life? 


i8o 


PHAROS 


Do you cal’late them things happened? No, 
sir; that stuff’s for women an’ kids; ’tain’t for 
men. I’ll tell you a story ’bout the Bible; there 
was a real smart chap down here last summer, 
an’ he ’xplained to me how he was fixin’ up his 
library, an’ arrangin’ all his books under Re- 
ligion an’ History an’ Jography an’ Bography 
an’ Fiction an’ so on. Finally he comes to the 
Bible, an’ where do you s’pose he puts it, young 
man? Where do you s’pose he puts this Holy 
Bible you’re braggin’ about? Now you answer 
me that I ” 

Billy, aghast at the fervor of this ruthless 
iconoclast, could only murmur faintly, “ Why, I 
don’t know. Under Religion, I suppose, or 
maybe under History — ” 

The unbeliever cut him short. “ No, sir,” he 
exclaimed, triumphantly, “ nothin’ o’ the sort. 
He put It under Fiction — light an’ amusin’ 
Fiction — that’s what he done. An’ you can 
bet he was a smart feller, too.” 

Billy decided that for the present he would 
let the Bible argument alone. “ Well, never 
mind about that,” he said; “ I believe in God, 


BILLY MINGLES MORE i8i 

just the same,” and then, as the memory of a 
famous phrase came to his mind, he waved his 
hand dramatically toward the sea. “ How can 
there be a world without a Creator?” he de- 
manded. “ When we see a table, we know there 
must have been a carpenter. When we see a 
picture, we deduce the existence of an artist. 
And when we look at the world, we infer the 
presence of God.” 

The old man gazed at him grimly. “ Ah, 
poppycock,” he retorted; “stuff an’ nonsense. 
We seen carpenters workin’, an’ we know they 
make tables; we seen damfool artists with vel- 
vety coats on paintin’ damfool pictures, when 
they ought to ben at work. But we never seen 
no Gods turnin’ out no worlds, nor never will. 
It’s nothin’ but a cheat — the whole business. 
It’s pretty to look at — mighty pretty ” — and 
he motioned toward the water in his turn — • 
“ but that’s all. Lots o’ trouble, an’ a little fun, 
an’ then — six feet o’ earth, an’ it’s over. 
That’s the hell of it, young man; it’s such a 
mean kind o’ joke to play. It all seems so 
real — we sweat so damn hard over it — an’ 


i 82 


PHAROS 


then to find out, after all, ’tain’t nothin’ but a 
joke. Some fine day you fergit to breathe, an’ 
that’s the end of it; six feet o’ earth, an’ you’re 
done.” 

Billy sat silent, gazing forth over the blue 
and sparkling sea. The conversation had 
shifted unexpectedly; theoretical argument had 
changed to stern reality; and Billy suddenly 
found himself filled with a lively hatred for this 
gloomy old gentleman, with his most depress- 
ing views. For supposing he were right — sup- 
posing that six feet of earth was the end — it 
seemed hardly fair that he, Billy Whitfield, 
nephew of the Honorable Staunton Whitfield, 
and a person of so much interest and attraction 
to himself — should thus all at once cease to be. 
And the more he thought of It, the more the 
idea annoyed him, until at length he exclaimed 
dogmatically, “ Oh, you can’t tell anything about 
it, anyway. You can say what you please, but 
I believe in God, and I believe I’ve got an Im- 
mortal soul, and that I’m going to live forever, 
and you can’t stop me from thinking so, 
either — ” 


BILLY MINGLES MORE 183 

He proceeded no further, for his adversary 
fell upon his words like a hawk swooping on 
its prey. “ Immortal soul ! ” he cried. “ Gosh, 
that’s good. Jus’ for argument, now. I’ll let 
you have a God, if you want him, but that don’t 
prove nothin’ about souls. If there he a feller 
up there in the sky, there must be times when 
he most busts his sides a’ lafEn’ ; an’ I’ll bet he 
never laffs no more than when he hears folks 
talkin’ about livin’ forever. I reckon that’s the 
cream o’ the whole blame thing. Why, jus’ 
look at the common sense of it. You say, now, 
you got an immortal soul? ” 

Billy nodded, with compressed lips. ‘‘Yes, 
sir,” he replied doggedly; “that’s what I’ve 
got.” 

The old man could hardly articulate fast 
enough. “ Then when d’you git it? ” he cried. 
“ Notice now, I’m allowin’ you everythin’. 
I’m not askin’ you where d’you git it; I’m givin’ 
you the benefit o’ all doubts. I’m only askin’ 
you, when d’you git it? That’s what I want to 
know.” 

Reference to his soul as if it had been an ob- 


PHAROS 


184 

ject of purchase, like an automobile or a set of 
golf clubs, somewhat staggered Billy. “ I don’t 
understand you,” he replied; “ how do you mean 
— when did I get it? ” 

“ Jus’ what I say,” responded his inquisitor. 
“ When did you git this immortal soul o’ your’n? 
Yesterday, or the day before, or last month. 
That’s all I’m askin’. How long you had it? ” 
There seemed but one answer to this, and 
Billy made it. “ That’s a fool question,” he 
returned with spirit. “ A man’s soul is born 
with him, of course; he has It from the begin- 
ning.” 

But his adversary, instead of being discon- 
certed at his reply, seemed to welcome It with 
rejoicing. “Oh, he has, has he?” he cried; 
“ you had this soul o’ your’n when you was a 
kid? Say when you was ten years old? ” 

Billy stuck to his guns. “ That’s what I did,” 
he retorted manfully; “ surest thing you 
know.” 

“ And you had it when you was one year 
old?” continued his inquisitor. 

Billy paused as if seeking to remember; then, 


BILLY MINGLES MORE 185 

scarcely perceiving where the line was to be 
drawn, again answered in the affirmative. 

“ An’ when you was a day old? ” pursued the 
old man. 

The pause was longer this time, and Billy’s re- 
ply, when it came, took the form of a nod, in 
place of audible speech. 

At once the old gentleman advanced toward 
him, shaking a long forefinger in Billy’s face to 
emphasize his argument. “ An’ if you had it 
then,” he cried, “ you had it before then — most 
a year before; you had it from the time you 
was started on your way. Can’t you see, young 
man ? Ain’t you got the sense to tell what non- 
sense this soul stuff is? You an’ me began our 
lives like lots o’ other animals; when we was a’ 
makin’ inside our mothers there was a spell you 
couldn’t a’ told us from a puppy or a kitten or 
a pig. They ain’t got no soul. Why in blazes 
you got one? Jus’ see where It brings you out, 
young man. If somethin’ happens to a baby 
’fore it once gits into the world, you got to say 
that pore little objec’, what never knowed riothin’ 
— never sensed nothin’ — is a’ goln’ straight 


i86 


PHAROS 


up to Heaven, to be a angel with God. C’n 
you stand here an’ tell me you b’lleve that? 
Such things ain’t in Nature. Can’t you see the 
point to it? There ain’t no God — no soul — 
no nothin’. We’re animals; that’s all we be. 
Born like ’em; live like ’em; die like ’em. An’ 
you stand here, an’ undertake to tell me you got 
an immortal soul — ” his voice rose almost to a 
shriek. “Hell an’ damnation, young feller; 
I wouldn’t give ye five cents for it; an’ that’s an’ 
hones’ fact. Here, hold on a minute ! Where 
you goin’ — ” for Billy, completely routed, had 
suddenly taken refuge in precipitate flight down 
the path, and the old man, gazing after him 
for a moment in huge disdain, slowly reseated 
himself, re-opened his “ Studies in Pessimism,” 
and once more resumed his reading. 

Billy, half-way back to the house, removed 
his cap and wiped the moisture from his brow. 
“Well, of all the joyful days,” he murmured; 
“what have I struck, anyway? Either Pm 
crazy, or everyone else is. I don’t have to try 
to get in bad — just open my mouth and stick 
my foot in it. Damn that old rascal — how 


BILLY MINGLES MORE 187 

could I tell what he was driving at? He’s 
spoiled my day for me anyway. Confound him, 
I believe he’s right, at that. It’s a devil of a 
mean world — ” and for almost five minutes he 
let his fancy play gloomily over the final act in 
the tragic drama of Man. At length, however, 
he heaved a long sigh, and shook himself as if 
awakening from a dream. “ Oh, well, to hell 
with it,” he murmured; “It’s a long ways off, 
anyway; I can have a lot of fun before then,” 
and whistling cheerfully to restore his spirits, 
he continued on his journey toward the house. 

Presently, Indeed, he brightened visibly as 
Edith Nickerson’s trim figure emerged from the 
house, a cloud of snow-white pigeons fluttering 
around her as she scattered their breakfast on 
the ground. “ Now then, old top,” he observed 
more hopefully, “ here we go again. We’ve 
been turned down twice already this morning, 
but what do we care for that. ‘ Never say die,* 
Is our motto; ‘Redeem the pennant; charge 
again,’ as Kipling says. The odds are with us, 
too; here’s the stage all set for the hero’s en- 
trance. The village beauty, young, pretty, fond 


i88 


PHAROS 


of attention, feeding the doves — say, can you 
beat it? And then the distinguished stranger, 
also youthful, rich, handsome — how can a 
flirtation be avoided? Answer, it can’t; it’s a 
lead pipe cinch. Still, if my luck holds, she’ll 
probably hit me with an axe. However, here 
goes — ” and an instant later, cap in hand, he 
was saying, with his most engaging manner, 
“ Mrs. Nickerson, if there’s anything I can do 
around the place, I wish you’d let me know. 
I’m feeling much better now, and I’d like to 
make myself useful if I can.” 

Edith Nickerson turned to him with a smile. 
“ Oh, thank you,” she answered demurely; “ I 
was just wishing I had someone to help me. 
I don’t suppose you can iron very well, but I 
haven’t had time to do the dishes, and the 
chickens have to be fed, and the pig — ” 

Mischief sparkled in her eye, but Billy, in 
pursuit of the feminine, balked at nothing. 
“ Great 1 ” he exclaimed with enthusiasm, “ just 
the sort of things I like to do. Let’s start with 
the dishes. We’ll do ’em together — ” and with 
confidence in himself once more restored, he 


BILLY MINGLES MORE 189 

set to work to make himself agreeable with such 
effect that two hours later, when Anderson came 
rowing in toward the beach, he found Billy 
standing outside the open window, conducting 
what he afterward described to his friend as 
“ one of the neatest little monologue stunts a 
girl ever listened to.” Edith Nickerson’s re- 
plies were inaudible, but Billy’s share of the con- 
versation was being carried on with much spirit. 
“ Ah, go on, Mrs. Nickerson, say you’ll come 

— ah, please — you won’t? — Yes, you will 
too. It’s going to be a corking dance — every- 
one will be there — you’ll have a dandy time. 
Tom doesn’t go to dances? Now look here, 
Mrs. Nickerson, who’s talking about Tom? 
He hasn’t got to go if he doesn’t want to. 
We’ll let him stay home and rest. No one to 
dance with an old married woman — oh, say, 
Edith — I beg your pardon, Mrs. Nickerson 

— but don’t make me laugh. No one to dance 
with you? Well, just for a starter, I’d like 
the first waltz, and the last, and supper, and 
that walk around the Church they talk about — 
joking? Well, you bet I’m not. Come now, 


190 


PHAROS 


say you’ll go — you won’t — say, do you think 
it’s quite the square thing to break a man’s 
heart? Stop talking foolishly? I’m not; I 
mean every word of it. If you don’t come to- 
night, I’ll be found dead in bed to-morrow 
morning, and everyone will blame Mrs. Stig- 
gins’ doughnuts. Silly? Well, I can’t help it 
— confound it, here’s the boat — yes, coming, 
Bart. All right. Be sure, now. Don’t forget 
the dances you’ve promised me. Fine — we’ll 
have a dandy time — good-by — ” and at last 
he had torn himself from the window, and was 
on his way toward the boat, and his waiting 
friend. 

By evening, Billy was fairly in his element. 
Immaculate in what was referred to, in Bayport, 
as a “ full dress suit,” he spared no pains to 
make a favorable impression on his future con- 
stituents. He talked lobsters with Manuel 
Antoine ; farming with Cy Tilden ; finance with 
Ezra Newcomb; and by way of reasonable com- 
pensation, he danced exclusively with Edith 
Nickerson, who in her white muslin and crim- 
son ribbons was by all odds the prettiest woman 


BILLY MINGLES MORE 


191 

in the room. Twelve o’clock found him again 
at Mrs. Stiggins’, retiring with exuberant self- 
approval. “ Bart,” he confided to his sleepy 
friend, “ I hate to talk about it, but I certainly 
made one hell of a hit. I guess I take after 
Uncle Staunton, after all. He’s great for pull- 
ing out of a tight place, and that’s what I did to- 
day. We made a bum start, but oh, golly, what 
a finish. These folks are for me, Bart; you 
just take it from me. I’ll be elected Selectman 
by the biggest plurality in the history of the 
town. And say, the funniest joke of all — 
what do you think I heard to-night? Nick- 
erson is going to run, too. Isn’t that the limit? 
Just think how I’ll put it over the poor guy. 
Honestly, it will be a shame. Tell me straight 
now, Bart, don’t you think we put in a great 
old day? ” 

But Anderson, with his broader experience 
of life in country towns, was scarcely as enthu- 
siastic as his friend. “ Oh, I don’t know,” he 
yawned; “I guess you’re putting it rather 
strong, Billy. And speaking of Nickerson, I’ll 
tell you one fool thing you did, and that was to 


192 


PHAROS 


dance so much with Nickerson’s wife. If you 
knew what a hotbed of gossip a country village 
is, you wouldn’t have made your admiration 
quite so evident. It’s not fair to her, and it’s 
damned unfair to Nickerson himself, and it’s 
mighty poor policy, as far as you’re concerned. 
So I give you fair warning, if you’re going to 
make a hit in Bayport, cut out this Mrs. Nicker- 
son stuff, right away.” 

But Billy only laughed. “ Oh, don’t worry,” 
he retorted; “you’re a good fellow, Bart, but 
you’ve got some queer ideas about things — 
especially about the ladies. Gee, but I had a 
swell time with Edith — I’m calling her Edith 
now — how’s that for one day’s acquaintance? 
Slow, I guess — not. Bart, she’s a little peach. 
And dance — why she’s as light on her feet as 
thistledown. Oh, she’s certainly all right, and 
say, Bart, talk about your shapes — ” 

But Anderson cut in upon him. “ Damn 
you, Billy,” he cried; “ for God’s sake cut it out. 
I believe you’re crazy about girls. But if 
you’ve got to have ’em on the brain, why in 
Heaven’s name can’t you stick to the unmarried 


BILLY MINGLES MORE 


193 


ones. You’ll raise the devil, some day, just as 
sure as we’re standing here ; you can’t help it, if 
you go on like this. I tell you again, cut it 
out.” 

Whitfield was a trifle sobered at his friend’s 
unwonted earnestness. “ All right, I will,” 
he answered; then added, with a complacent 
grin, “ that is, if she’ll let me. Anyway, Bart, 
we had one grand old day of it, and now we’ll 
indulge in a little sleep. Good night and happy 
dreams,” and within a minute he had fallen into 
a tranquil and peaceful slumber. 

Ignorance, they say, is bliss. And doubt- 
less Billy was much happier for not overhear- 
ing various conversations regarding himself, 
carried on in the village on this same evening. 
For up in Beechwoods, ’Bijah the hunter was 
rehearsing the story of the morning to an in- 
terested group in Litchfield’s grocery store, 
winding up by an illustration of the punch which 
had laid Whitfield low, and the scathing com- 
ment, “ Cal’late we don’t need no city dudes 
teachin’ us our business, down this way; not yet 
awhile, we don’t ” ; over on the Island, old Jim 


194 


PHAROS 


Nickerson was saying to his son, “ What you 
say his name was? Whitfield? Well, he’s a 
fool, whoever he be. He’s loose as ashes, Tom ; 
ain’t got no head-piece to him at all ” ; and fin- 
ally, in the sanctity of their virgin chamber. 
Miss Lucretia Bates was saying to her sister, 
Heppy, “Yes, they did; an’ he walked around 
the Church with her too. What Tom Nicker- 
son can be thinkin’ of is more’n / can see. It’s 
a scandal for Bayport; an’ / believe there’s a 
duty on folks to see that such goin’s on is put 
a stop to.” 

And Billy slept. 


CHAPTER VII 


TOM NICKERSON GETS A STRAIGHT TIP 

D usk was failing over Bayport Har- 
bor. The flaming colors of the 
winter sunset still streaked the 
west; and a breeze from the north, keen and 
cold, whistled through the branches of the leaf- 
less trees. In the center of the harbor, Tom 
Nickerson, his dory lashed fast to the lobster 
cars, was bringing his day’s fishing to an end. 
One by one, from the box amidships, he drew 
forth his struggling victims, throwing the larger 
ones into the car, and permitting the “ snap- 
pers ” — those too small to be legally captured 
— a return to life and liberty. 

Gradually the box was emptied. The last 
“counter” was plunged into the car; the last 
“ snapper ” hurled high in air, to fall seaward 
with a mighty splash, and doubtless much per- 
plexed in mind, to seek for shelter at the har- 
195 


PHAROS 


196 

bor’s rocky bottom. Locking the car, Nicker- 
son moored his boat, bailed and cleaned her, 
and five minutes later had sculled his skiff 
ashore, and hauled her up on the float stage for 
the night. Old Bill Reed, Bayport’s veteran 
fisherman, contentedly angling away for one 
sculpin more, glanced up at him with mild in- 
terest in his gaze. “ What yer doin’ over here. 
Tommy?” he drawled. “Ain’t it time yer 
was gittin’ home? ” 

“ I’m goin’ to stay with Joe to-night,” Nick- 
erson answered; “ there’s a meetln’ up in Light- 
house Hall, ’bout the railroad. But I got to 
find Torella first. He sent word by Man’l he 
wanted to see me ’bout somethin’ or other, so 
I’m goin’ to try an’ git a hold of him now.” 

“So Sarvy wants to see you, does he?” the 
old man repeated; then, evidently considering 
that subject at an end, he asked, “ Haow’d 
they crawl fur ye to-day. Tommy? Pretty 
fair?” 

“Yes, pretty fair,” Nickerson responded; 
“ no kick cornin’ this week. How’d they do to 
the east’ard?” 


A STRAIGHT TIP 


197 

“They done good,” rejoined Reed, spitting 
with science, as he jerked in a big, white-bellied 
sculpin, with staring eyes and gasping mouth. 
“ Man’l he got sixty-seven; Joe ” — he stopped 
to whack the luckless fish against the float stage 
until, with a shudder of mortal agony, it stif- 
fened, glassy-eyed, into death — “ Joe ” — he 
spat again — “got upwards of fifty; Peterson, 
he done about the same; Harry got forty-two. 
Yes, most of ’em done well to-day; you keep 
any count yourself? ” 

Nickerson nodded. “Yes, kind of a rough 
count,” he answered; “ ’bout the same as Man’l, 
I guess ; they were crawlin’ pretty good. Well, 
good night. Bill; see you to-morrow,” and leav- 
ing the float stage, he started on his way toward 
the village. 

Up the path and down the road, he strode 
steadily along; stopping, through force of long 
habit, at the corner, to take one last look, in the 
gathering darkness, at the harbor, and the open 
sea beyond. Behind him, the lights of the vil- 
lage were beginning to shine out, one by one. 
The afterglow still lingered in the western sky; 


PHAROS 


198 

the road was crisp underfoot; the wind cut 
fresh and keen across his face. For a moment 
he stood motionless, his eyes fixed on the dis- 
tant horizon ; then, rousing himself, walked 
briskly on. 

As he passed Harry Atwood’s cottage, two 
little boys, tow-headed, sturdy and brown, ran 
out to meet him. “ Hullo, Tom,” they cried 
in shrill chorus; “how many d’ye get to-day? 
Pa got forty-two. Pa, he got one old rip- 
snorter — said he guessed he’d weigh nigh on 
to ten pounds. Bet you didn’t get none as big 
as that, now did you, Tom? ” 

Nickerson shook his head. “ No,” he an- 
swered mournfully, “ I can’t catch lobsters. I 
hauled a hundred pots, and I got two snappers, 
and a sculpin, and ” — he paused to make his 
climax more effective — “ just about fourteen 
thousand crabs. How was that for high? ” 

But the little boys, trotting along at his side, 
were not to be deceived. “ Ah, go on,” they 
chorused again, glancing shrewdly up at him, 
“ you can’t fool us that way,” and then, from 
the elder of the two, “ No, sir, pa says when it 


A STRAIGHT TIP 


199 

comes to fishin’, there ain’t no one in Bayport 
got nothin’ on you. You c’n ketch lobsters like 
the very devil — that’s what pa says.” 

The younger added his testimony. “ Yes,” 
he cried accusingly, “ you got somethin’ besides 
nasty ol’ crabs; an’ we watched you a’ throwin’ 
’em in, too. We counted up to most sixty, ’fore 
it got too dark to see. You can’t fool us, Tom; 
not s’ easy as that.” 

Nickerson laughed. “ Oh, you know too 
much, both of you,” he rejoined; “ you ought to 
go lobstering yourselves. You’re too smart to 
waste your time ashore. I’ll tell you this much, 
if you want to know so bad. Suppose a man 
had a hundred pots, and caught a lobster and a 
quarter to a pot. Then how many would he 
have? Can you figure that? ” 

As they computed, their eyes grew big with 
admiration. ‘‘ Gee ! ” cried the elder, “ pretty 
darn good. You beat ’em all to the east’ard, 
an’ you got pa skun a mile,” and they scampered 
away for home, to report the news. 

As he ascended the hill, Nickerson perceived 
the portly form of Torella, standing on the 


200 


PHAROS 


doorsteps of his house. Richly, indeed, did 
“ Sarvy ’’ deserve his nickname. He was tall, 
stout and ingratiating, with an ever-present 
smile which Joe Surado had once described as 
“ most too damn good to be true.” “ Hullo, 
Tom,” he hailed, “ glad to see you. Come 
over a minute, won’t you ? ” 

Nickerson crossed the road, and came to a 
halt at the foot of the steps. “ Well,” he re- 
sponded, “what’s the trouble now?” 

Torella leaned his elbows on the railing, and 
gazed downward through the gloom, speaking 
low and confidentially. “ Say, Tom,” he whis- 
pered, “ ’bout this S’lectman business. What 
do you think o’ your chances? Right on the 
level, now; how do things look to you?” 

But Nickerson showed no desire to commit 
himself. “Oh, I don’t know,” he answered; 
“ It’s pretty early yet, Sarvy; most three months 
to ’Lection Day. There’s lots o’ things could 
happen ’tween now an’ then. Why, what do 
you want to know for?” 

“Oh, nothin’,” Torella evaded In his turn; 
“ I was jus’ figurin’ who’s goin’ to be In the field. 


A STRAIGHT TIP 


201 


There’s more’n a dozen of ’em claim they’re 
goin’ to try, but you know how ’tis. Some of 
’em are hopin’ to be bought off, an’ there’s 
others wants to see their names in the paper, 
an’ one or two of ’em are crazy. But I’ll tell 
you what ’tis, Tom ” — and he lowered his 
voice again to the politician’s most seductive 
whisper — 1 think you got a corkin’ show, an’ 

if we could fix things up satisfactory, you un- 
derstand, why I’d like mighty well to be on your 
side. You kinder think it over, Tom, an’ then 
lemme know.” 

“ Thank you, Sarvy,” Nickerson responded, 
with apparent candor; “ it’s mighty kind of you, 
I’m sure. Because the solid Portugee vote 
would certainly help a feller a lot.” 

Torella gazed keenly down at him, as if striv- 
ing to read from his face the manner in which 
he meant his words to be received. For 
“ Sarvy ” the year previous had made a name 
for himself in the annals of Bayport politics. 
Playing both ends and the middle at the same 
time, he had pledged the “ solid Portugee vote,” 
an expression of his own coining, in turn to the 


202 


PHAROS 


Republicans and to the Democrats, and had 
finally wound up by again “ delivering ” to the 
candidate of the Independence League. The 
result had been that the Portuguese of the vil- 
lage, possessing a sturdy common sense of their 
own, had voted, in Manuel Antoine’s phrase, 
“ as customary, about as they damn pleased,” 
while “ Sarvy,” creator and proprietor of the 
“ solid Portugee vote,” had ridden around town 
for the rest of the winter, to the envy of his 
friends, in a new buggy, drawn by a neat little 
bay mare, with his portly form enveloped to 
the chin in a magnificent overcoat, currently re- 
ported to be a genuine black bearskin. Yet his 
countrymen felt no real resentment; but rather, 
a certain admiration for his nerve, as if a man 
who could successfully work such a monumental 
bluff deserved the good luck to “ get away with 
it.” So now, still desirous of being taken se- 
riously, and seeing no signs of undue levity in 
Nickerson’s eye, he responded, “ Why, Tom, 
’twould be a cinch. If you had me with you, 
you’d be as good as elected. There ain’t no 
doubt of It at all. We could fix things up, you 


A STRAIGHT TIP 


203 


understand, so’s I could show you a hundred and 
fifty votes, on election day, sure as shootin’.” 

Nickerson, inwardly amused, at the same time 
realized that this interest in his plans was to be 
interpreted as a favorable sign, for Sarvy, what- 
ever one might think of his methods, had a mar- 
velous knack for “ picking the winner ” in Bay- 
port politics. So he answered guardedly, 
“ Why, sure, if we could fix things up, Sarvy, 
I’d be glad to have you with me. I want to 
win if I can.” 

Torella bent downward from the porch until 
his mouth was almost touching Nickerson’s ear. 
“ Say, Tommy,” he observed, “ you ever hear 
of strikin’ while the Iron was hot. You come on 
Inside a minute. I got somethin’ I want to tell 
you.” 

Nickerson mounted the steps, and they en- 
tered Torella’s tiny parlor, where the politician 
drew two chairs close together, and as they 
seated themselves, placed a plump hand con- 
fidentially on Tom’s knee. “It’s like this. 
Tommy,” he began; “you ain’t had no great 
experience campaignin’; this runnin’ for S’lect- 


204 


PHAROS 


man Is kinder your first political offense. Now 
I been foolin’ with the game for quite some 
time, an’ you c’n take It from me, It ain’t no 
cinch. Don’t go to misunderstandin’ me now. 
I b’lieve you got a swell chanst, but I don’t 
want you to think you got no walkover, ’cause 
you ain’t. One way or ’nother, I cal’late to 
know most everythin’ that’s goln’ on, an’ so I 
git hold o’ lots o’ things that more’n likely you’d 
never hear ’bout at all. F’r instance, I know 
that Jim Litchfield bet Lafe Turner fifty cents 
this very noontime that you wouldn’t be ’lected 
next March. Of course, that’s only a straw, 
but straws show how the wind’s a blowin’. 
An’ I’ll tell you right now, Tom, what the boys 
got against you that’s goln’ to hurt you most. 
No one claims but what you’re honest, an’ no 
one says but what you’re tolerable smart; but 
what they do say is, Tom, that you don’t stand 
in with the big fellers; that you don’t know no 
men In the city; an’ that you ain’t got ’nough 
of a pull. You’re lucky that’s all they are 
sayin’ — usually a feller has to take It harder’n 
that — but that’s what they’re talkin’, an’ that’s 


A STRAIGHT TIP 


205 

what we got to stop, right away. Jus’ git rid 
o’ that, Tommy, an’ you’re a winner.” 

Nickerson’s face had lengthened. “ But I 
don’t see what we can do, Sarvy,” he answered; 
“ it’s true enough. I ain^ t acquainted much, out- 
side o’ town. If they’re lookin’ for a man 
with a pull, I guess they don’t want 

Torella smiled. “ Oh, shucks,” he re- 
sponded; “you give up too easy, Tom; you 
ain’t got enough fight to you. It’s all a game, 
anyhow, this blame politics, an’ a feller has to 
go ahead an’ play it. Why, we can stop this 
talk in five minutes, and we’ll do it, too. You’re 
goin’ to the meetin’ to-night, ain’t you?” 

“ Sure,” answered Nickerson; “ I don’t own 
but ten shares o’ stock, but I’d like darned well 
to know whether to sell it or to hold on.” 

Torella’s shrewd eyes twinkled, and his grip 
on Nickerson’s knee tightened. “ Just what 
every other feller in the hall wants to know,” he 
cried, “but there’s only one man in Bayport 
that’s got the tip, Tommy, and that man ” — he 
added, with dramatic emphasis — “that man. 
Tommy, is me/^ 


2o6 


PHAROS 


Nickerson gazed at him, impressed yet skep- 
tical. “ You know which town’s goin’ to git 
the road,” he repeated; “ that straight, Sarvy? ” 
Torella could see the effect which his words 
had produced, and was quick to follow up his 
advantage. “ That’s straight, Tom,” he an- 
swered; “you might hear some folks in town 
blamin’ me for playin’ the game the way I do, 
but I c’n tell you this — it pays, every time. 
An’ I’m goin’ to put you wise to things. Tommy. 
Make a guess, now. Who’s goin’ to git the 
road? Bayport or Greenfield?” 

Nickerson reflected. “ Well,” he hazarded 
at length, “ most everyone seems to think Bay- 
port’s got the best show.” 

Sarvy chuckled. “ An’ what most everyone 
thinks, Tom,” he responded, “ is mighty apt to 
be wrong. No, sir, it’s Greenfield that gits the 
franchise, an’ it’s you that’s goin’ to git right up 
in meetin’ to-night, an’ tell folks so. An’ 
you’re goin’ to let ’em see that you stand right 
in solid with the big fellers, too. I guess maybe 
that won’t stop this talk ’bout your not havin’ 
any pull ; an’ I guess maybe after that we won’t 


A STRAIGHT TIP 207 

’lect you S’lectman, easy as rollin’ off a log. 
An’ lemme tell you, Tommy,” he added, with 
his best and oiliest smile, “ there won’t be no 
one in Bayport that’ll be any gladder to see it 
than me.” 

Nickerson’s heart beat faster at his words, 
for granting that the information was true, 
there could be no doubt of its value. Not only 
would it mean the prompt sale of his own 
shares in Bayport & Southern, but as Sarvy had 
suggested, the imparting of this knowledge to 
the rest of Bayport would surely smooth his 
path toward the office of Selectman. Yet de- 
spite all this, he hesitated, for first of all, he had 
only Torella’s word for the truth of the story, 
and in addition to this, “ running other folks’ 
affairs ” was something he always shrank from. 
And thus he answered, “ Much obliged for 
tellin’ me, Sarvy, an’ I ain’t no doubt it’s so; 
but when it comes to gittin’ up in the hall an’ 
givin’ advice to the rest of the crowd, why that 
kinder goes ag’in the grain. I don’t believe I’ll 
do it, Sarvy; it’s takin’ too big a risk.” 

Torella laughed. “ Why, you don’t get me. 


2o8 


PHAROS 


Tom,” he rejoined smoothly; “ it ain’t a case of 
advice, I ain’t guessin^ on the thing. This is 
the goods. Why, see here — ” 

He fumbled in his pocket, drew forth his 
wallet, and produced a letter, which he handed 
to Tom. “ See what you think o’ that^" he re- 
marked; “maybe you’ll feel some different 
when you look that through.” 

Nickerson took the envelope from Torella’s 
hand. It bore the politician’s name and ad- 
dress, and was marked “ Personal.” So far, so 
good, but It was the contents of the note Itself 
which made the fisherman gasp. The heading 
read “ Confidential,” and there followed in 
crisp, brief sentences the information that “ the 
writer,” replying to Mr. Torella’s favor, &c., 
begged to state that in his opinion the franchise 
for an extension of its road would undoubtedly 
be awarded to the town of Greenfield. Most 
remarkable of all, there followed the flowing 
signature of Staunton Whitfield, millionaire and 
recognized authority on the subject of street 
railways; and Immediately, Nickerson felt that 
he had wholly underestimated his host; for a 


A STRAIGHT TIP 209 

man who could receive a letter like this was no 
“ four-flusher ” in the political game. Torella 
sat looking at him with a satisfied expression 
on his face. “ Well? ” he queried, “ what say 
now? ” 

Nickerson hesitated. The temptation was 
certainly strong. To be elected Selectman 
would mean much to him. There was the sal- 
ary — there was the influence — there was the 
pleasant knowledge that for his wife it would 
mean a step upward socially and that his boy 
would be known as “ S’lectman Nickerson’s 
son.” There was the call of an honest ambi- 
tion, the desire to help his town by doing what 
he could toward a proper administration of its 
affairs. And yet — this counseling others was 
foreign to his nature, and half to gain time, half 
because he honestly meant it, he said, “ But look 
here, Sarvy, why don’t you spring this your- 
self? Seems like you ought to be the feller to 
git the credit” 

Torella’s sigh was humility itself. 
“Tommy,” he answered, “for one thing, that 
letter’s marked ‘ confidential ’ ; but there’s an- 


210 


PHAROS 


other reason besides that. I just told you It paid 
to be a politician. In one way, that’s true — in 
another, It ain’t. It helps your pocket-book tre- 
mendous, but it raises hell with your reputation. 
If I got up In that hall to-night, with a telegram 
from God Almighty, the folks in Bayport 
wouldn’t take no ’count of It at all. You know 
the way they talk, Tom; they don’t b’lleve I’m 
on the level. So what would be the use o’ my 
tellln’ ’em anythin’ ? They’d turn right around 
an’ do the opposite. No, Tommy, this Is your 
chanst, an’ you’re welcome to It. You’ll help 
yourself, an’ you’ll be doin’ a big favor to your 
friends besides.” 

It was well and skillfully put, and Nickerson 
hesitated no longer. Here, as Torella said, 
was a genuine chance, with everything In Its fa- 
vor, and nothing against It. And thus he said 
simply, “All right, Sarvy, I’ll do It; an’ I’m 
much obliged to you,” and as Torella rose to 
conduct his guest to the door, the politician’s fat 
face fairly beamed with unselfish joy. 

“ Tom,” he said, with the utmost sincerity, 
“ you don’t know how darn glad I am to hear 


A STRAIGHT TIP 


2II 


you say them words,” and Nickerson went on 
his way, wondering greatly at this unexpected 
turn of fortune’s wheel. 

An hour later, men of Bayport, to the num- 
ber of two hundred, were assembled in Light- 
house Hall, standing around the room in small 
knots and groups, and fervently pursuing a 
single topic of conversation. All ranks were 
there; Bayport’s best; Bayport’s average; pos- 
sibly Bayport’s worst, as well. In the center of 
the room was old Ezra Newcomb, Bayport’s 
town clerk for twenty years; gaunt, erect, clad 
in sober black; his hair white as snow; his ruddy 
face lined and seamed with wrinkles; in repose, 
grave with a stern uprightness of purpose; when 
he smiled, eloquent with a gentle and kindly 
mirth. For fifty years of the town’s history, 
whatever the question, whatever the ultimate 
decision, Ezra Newcomb had always been “ on 
the square.” Many others like him were scat- 
tered about the hall, but among them other 
types as well. Drunken New England, with 
flushed face and rambling tongue; shiftless New 
England, collarless, out at elbows, down at 


212 


PHAROS 


heels, lounging on the outskirts of the crowd, 
from time to time covertly spitting a stream of 
tobacco juice on the floor; youthful New Eng- 
land, aggressive and superior, attending the 
meeting largely as a joke, with tongue in cheek, 
enchanging winks of infinite wisdom. Nor was 
the meeting of New England alone; Ireland, 
Portugal, Norway and Sweden, Italy, Africa — 
all were represented; men of all nations, and 
all ranks of life, meeting on an equal footing 
and with a common interest at stake; differing 
perhaps in every other way, and yet alike in be- 
ing, to a greater or less degree, the owners of 
the blue and gold certificates of the Bayport and 
Southern Street Railway Company. 

Presently, above the noise of the discussion, 
the clock in the corner wheezed out the hour of 
eight. It was the time for which the meeting 
had been called, and Ezra Newcomb, walking 
over to the table at the end of the room, began 
pounding vigorously for order; then, waiting 
until the stockholders had taken their places on 
the benches around the room, he seated himself 
and began his address. 


A STRAIGHT TIP 


213 

“ Fellow townsmen,” he said, “ the purpose 
of this meeting is known to all of us. Every 
man in this hall is a holder of Bayport and 
Southern stock. This stock, for more years 
than we care to remember, has been considered 
worthless, but within a month weVe seen it ad- 
vance again, and I dare say everyone of us 
has had ideas of getting out whole, and maybe 
making a dollar besides. Now comes the 
rumor that the advance in the stock isn’t war- 
ranted ; that it’s due merely to stock market ma- 
nipulation; and that it’s Greenfield, and not 
Bayport, that finally’s going to get the road. 
The question’s a simple one, but we want all the 
light on it we can get. Do we sell, or do we 
hold on? I declare the subject open for discus- 
sion.” 

Instantly Manuel Antoine, leader and spokes- 
man of the Portuguese fishermen, was on his 
feet, and duly recognized by the chair. “ Mr. 
Newcomb and gentlemen,” he began; “I’m in 
favor of sellin’ out, an’ I’ll tell you why. In the 
first place, this whole business is mighty uncer- 
tain, an’ a bird in the hand, as the feller says, is 


214 


PHAROS 


worth two in the bush, an’ rhaybe a damn sight 
more. In the second place, speakin’ for myself 
an’ I guess for a few others as well, it ain’t no 
secret that it’s been a terrible bad year for fishin’. 
Men that could put their hands in their pants 
pockets, a while back, an’ find five hundred 
dollars there, can’t find nary a cent to-day. 
Ready money ’round Bayport has got to be an 
awful scarce thing. Of course, we ain’t so bad 
off but what ’twould be a shame to sell, if we 
thought the old stock was goin’ higher; but is 
it? For my part, I don’t believe it. I’ve been 
fooled once; I’d hate like time to see us 
get caught again. An’ the bad part is, 
there ain’t no one can really find out 
how the blame Legislature’s goin’ to vote. So 
I say there ain’t nothin’ so bad but what it might 
be worse, an’ I vote we sell out, an’ get part of 
our money back, anyway, while we got the 
chance.” 

Amid a general murmur of approval from the 
fisherman, he took his seat; but in a moment, old 
Caleb Eldredge had arisen in his place. Bent 
and withered, he leaned heavily on his stick, his 


A STRAIGHT TIP 


215 

hard old eyes flashing from under his thatched 
brows as he gave vehement expression to his 
views. “ Don’t agree, Mr. Chairman,” he 
cried; “don’t agree with the gentleman at all. 
I cal’late this whole thing, from beginnin’ to 
end, ain’t nothin’ but a bunco game — a reg’lar 
plain swindle. When we fell all over ourselves 
to buy the stock, we heard ’twas goin’ to twenty- 
five dollars a share — maybe fifty — an’ what 
happened? Why, Inside a year she was sellln’ at 
fifty cents. Now we hear Greenfield’s goin’ to 
git the road, an’ Bayport stock’s no good, an’ I 
should think we might have sense enough to 
draw our own c’ncluslons. All the ’xperience 
I’ve had out o’ life — an’ I’ve had some — has 
teached me that when there’s any money lyin’ 
around, there ain’t a man on earth but what’ll 
lie his head off If he thinks that’s goin’ to help 
him git It. If ever I hear any talk ’bout any 
stock that’s a’ goin’ down, then’s the time I’m 
willin’ to gamble my shirt she’s a’ goin’ up. If 
there’s insiders that knows so much about what 
she’s a’ goin’ to do, do you s’pose they’re takin’ 
the trouble to come ’round an’ let us fellers In 


2i6 


PHAROS 


on a good thing, when they could just as well 
keep it to themselves? You c’n bet they ain’t. 
Folks ain’t so damn generous as that comes to. 
I’ll tell you what it puts me in mind of. There 
was one time, right here in Bayport, when all 
the fathers an’ mothers gits dredful worked up 
’bout the marks their kids was a’ gittin’ in school. 
Johnny Bates has eighty-five, an’ his ma an’ 
pa go ’round braggin’ ’bout it, till Mary Jones 
gits ninety, an’ then it’s her pa and ma’s turn. 
An’ so it goes, till one mornin’ Bob Tilden comes 
down t’ the wharf, all smiles, tellin’ how his boy 
Bill has broke all records, an’ come home with 
a mark of a hundred an^ ten. Well, that 
settles that argument. No more talk ’bout 
percentages for a spell; but they say Bob can’t 
see where the joke come, to this day. 

“ So now, Mr. Chairman, that’s the trouble 
with this stock market crowd. They’re just like 
Bill Tilden’s hundred an’ ten; most too good to 
believe. It ain’t sense, Mr. Chairman; you can 
bet there’s a bug under the chip, somewheres. 
We’ve held this stock a good while; let’s stick 


A STRAIGHT TIP 


217 

a little longer, and see if these fellers don’t 
change their tune.” 

He sat down, only a few scattered hand-claps 
giving faint endorsement to his views, for El- 
dredge was one of those men who have only to 
espouse a cause in order to bring forth imme- 
diate and enthusiastic opposition. There fol- 
lowed a half-dozen other speakers, some 
lengthy, some brief, none particularly to the 
point, until finally Sarvy Torella arose. “ Mr. 
Chairman,” he began, with his most in- 
gratiating smile, “ there’s a gentleman present 
that we ain’t yet had the pleasure of bearin’ 
from. I consider he’s pretty well posted on 
things in general, an’ I know he’s got the in- 
terests o’ the town at heart. In fact, there’s 
a good many of us hope that by March meetin’ 
he’ll be somethin’ more than a plain ordinary 
citizen o’ Bayport; we ’xpect to see him occu- 
pyin’ one o’ the seats o’ the mighty. You all 
know who I mean; an’ I’d like to hear a few 
words from neighbor Tom Nickerson.” 

Nickerson rose, a hearty burst of applause 


2i8 


PHAROS 


testifying to his popularity among his townsmen, 
and giving him time to recover from a momen- 
tary feeling of embarrassment. “ Mr. Chair- 
man and gentlemen,” he said; “ we all seem to 
be in the same boat on this question, and I 
cal’late we’re all anxious to git our bearings, 
so’s we’ll be able to steer a straight course, if 
we can. I ain’t much on givin’ advice to other 
folks, as I guess most of you know, but I’m 
willin’ to go this fur. I’ve happened to get hold 
of some information that comes so straight, an’ 
comes in such a way, an’ comes from such a man, 
that I ain’t got the least doubt, in my own mind, 
but what we oughter sell out our Bayport stock, 
an’ buy Greenfield instead. I ain’t at liberty to 
say no more than this; but I’ll tell you straight 
out that I’m a’ goin’ to do it, no matter what 
the rest o’ the crowd does; an’ if this meetin’ 
should decide to do the same thing, all in a 
body, why I don’t believe they’ll be makin’ any 
mistake. Further’n that, I ain’t got nothin’ to 
say.” 

As he resumed his seat, the prolonged ap- 
plause and the buzz of conversation which im- 


A STRAIGHT TIP 


219 


mediately sprang up around the hall, showed the 
Interest which his speech had awakened. But 
instantly old man Eldredge, like some ancient 
Jack-in-the-box, bobbed up again in his place. 
“ Don’t agree, Mr. Chairman,” he once more 
protested; “ don’t agree at all. I got a pretty 
good idea who this man is that Tom’s referrin’ 
to, an’ it don’t make me think a bit better o’ the 
whole scheme. Jus’ because a feller makes a 
few millions, more or less, without bein’ any too 
partic’lar how he makes ’em, folks think they 
got to lie down in the dust an’ lick his boots, like 
he was a reg’lar tin God on wheels. I remem- 
ber when Washin’ton G. JImson, the copper 
magnet, come down here fust to live. Every- 
body tickled to death that such a great man had 
come to town. One mornin’, he sends for old 
Captain Ben Allen. ‘ Cap’n Ben,’ he says, ‘ I 
want you to take me fishin’ some mornin’ next 
week.’ or Cap’n Ben, all nervous and flus- 
tered, he says, ‘ Any time you say, Mr. JImson; 
any time you say.’ ‘ Let’s make it Thursday, 
then,’ says Jimson; ‘what hour’s the best to 
start?’ ‘Any time you say, Mr. Jimson,’ say 


220 


PHAROS 


Cap’n Ben; ‘any time you say.’ ‘Well,’ says 
Jimson, ‘ when’s the tide high? ’ ‘ Oh,’ says 

Cap’n Ben, ‘ any time you say, Mr. Jimson; any 
time you say.’ 

“ Now then, Mr. Chairman, what’s the use 
o’ bein’ as foolish as that? Rich or poor, I 
cal’late we’re all human, an’ these fellers we call 
the ‘ big men ’ ain’t apt to run such a great lot 
better’n the average. Tom Nickerson, he 
thinks he’s got some val’ble Information from 
one o’ these fellers. Maybe he has, an’ maybe 
he hasn’t. But I’ll tell you ag’in, from my 
.’xperience o’ life, an’ I’ve took my bumps with 
the rest, a man can’t go broke much quicker an’ 
slicker than he can by nosin’ ’round after ‘ inside 
informatio;!,’ as they call it, from the chaps 
that’s s’posed to know. The only time suckers 
like us c’n really be on the inside Is after we’re 
swallered up; an’ that ain’t no joke, either. So 
when we hear o’ one o’ these kindly fellers 
sendin’ us special word as to what’s goin’ to hap- 
pen, I b’lieve in askin’ ourselves what’s the ob- 
ject he’s got in view, by doin’ it. I never take 
things for granted no more; nor men neither. 


A STRAIGHT TIP 


221 


I b’lieve in treatin’ folks like Eph Tower 
treated the new parson when he come to town. 
Real nice young feller he was — ’Piscopal — 
good clean young man, an’ preached so powerful 
he’d git all het up an’ excited ’bout it. Kind of 
a sportin’ man, too, he was — great on ridin’ a 
bicycle — an’ that led to his developin’ a fault. 
The streets was in awful bad shape that year, 
an’ the preacher, he would ride on the side- 
walks. Don’t imagine he knew there was any 
harm in it, an’ bein’ the minister, no one seemed 
to like to tell him that the S’lectmen had for- 
bidden it, more’n a year ago. So one day he 
comes skimmin’ along, as usual, I s’pose bound 
on some errand o’ mercy, when Eph Tower 
spies him. Eph was sittin’ in front o’ the post 
office, smokin’ an’ spittin’ an’ enjoyin’ himself 
generally. Now he warn’t no respecter o’ par- 
sons — not by a damn sight — an’ when he 
sees the minister goin’ by, he up an’ hails him. 
Minister pulls up, not suspectin’ nothin’; he 
don’t know Eph; an’ I reckon he thinks here’s 
another poor soul in need o’ savin’. So he 
comes prancin’ up, all smiles, an’ Eph just a 


222 


PHAROS 


layin’ for him all the time. ‘ Be you the new 
parson?’ says he. ‘I be,’ says the Reverend. 
‘ B’lieve in doin’ good, don’t ye?’ says Eph. 
‘ I certain do,’ says the parson, lookin’ kind o’ 
puzzled. ‘ An’ in settin’ a good example to 
the young? ’ says Eph. ‘ I certain do,’ says the 
parson again. ‘ Then why,^ hollers Eph, 
poundin’ the ground with that old stick o’ his, 
an’ yellin’ so outrageous loud you could hear 
him most down t’ the Station, ‘ why in hell 
don’t you stop a’ ridin’ your bike on the side- 
walks o’ this town? ’ 

“ An’ that’s the way it goes, Mr. Chairman. 
Good an’ holy men are scarce. I ain’t never 
see one, old as I be. An’ I don’t care who this 
feller is that Tom’s been bearin’ from. The 
more he knows, the slipperier he’s apt to be. 
The whole thing’s a bluff, an’ if we sell out, 
we’ll be makin’ a passel o’ fools of ourselves. 
Hang on a spell; that’s what I say.” 

As he sat down, all eyes were turned instinc- 
tively on Nickerson, and after a brief pause, 
the fisherman rose slowly to his feet. “ Mr. 
Chairman,” he rejoined, “ it kinder seems to me 


A STRAIGHT TIP 


223 

as If neighbor Eldredge was takin’ most too 
gloomy a view of things In general. As I said 
before, I ain’t at liberty to mention names, but 
the Information I’m bankin’ on comes from a 
man that is rich, an’ from a man that’s always 
been Interested In the Bayport & Southern Street 
Railway. But I don’t figure that’s any reason 
why he’s givin’ us wrong Information now. In 
fact, I figure it t’other way, an’ I think consider- 
able better of human natur’ than Mr. Eldredge 
does. If a man’s rich, an’ knows that a crowd 
of other fellers are pretty tarnation poor, it don’t 
seem sensible to me that he’d want to git what 
they got away from ’em. ’Twould seem like 
such a darn mean trick that the man that done It 
would sorter despise himself for the rest of his 
days, an’ the money part wouldn’t scarcely make 
up for It. Now I cal’late that this feller knows 
that the crowd of us here In Bayport got soaked 
pretty hard when the stock busted, an’ I cal’late 
further that he knows we need the money, an’ 
don’t want to see us git stuck again. I b’lieve, 
neighbor Eldredge to the contrary, that folks 
ain’t as mean-spirited as he makes out, an’ I 


PHAROS 


224 

stick to what I say — I b’lieve if we sell, an’ buy 
Greenfield & Northern stock instead, we’ll all 
git square for what we lost, an’ make a dollar 
besides. But of course nothin’s certain in this 
world, an’ it all comes down to bearin’ in mind 
that a feller can’t most generally always some- 
times tell.” 

The applause made it clear that practically 
everybody in the hall, for one reason or an- 
other, agreed with Nickerson, and after brief 
further debate, it was unanimously voted. El- 
dredge alone dissenting, to sell every share of 
Bayport & Southern stock held in the town, 
and to buy Greenfield & Northern in its place. 

At the doorway of the hall, amid the crowd 
of departing citizens, Eldredge laid a heavy 
hand on Nickerson’s arm. “ You’re a fool, 
boy,” he snorted; “ a plain damn fool. When 
you’re as old as I be, you’ll know better than to 
go around givin’ away free advice, the way you 
done t’night. You’re goin’ to git skun — the 
whole of ye — an’ then they’ll say, ‘ ’Twas all 
Tom’s fault for tellin’ us to do it’ You wait 


A STRAIGHT TIP 225 

an’ see, boy; jus’ you wait an’ see,” and to 
Nickerson, as he passed out Into the winter’s 
night, there seemed to be about the old man’s 
utterance an ominous and prophetic ring. 


CHAPTER VIII 


SHOWING THE UNCERTAINTY OF THINGS IN 
GENERAL 

B artlett anderson, seated in 

the living room of his big country 
house, scowled savagely to himself, 
with an air of utter disgust. “ This sure beats 
the devil,” he muttered; “ Pm a lemon at this 
‘ break the news to mother ’ game. I certainly 
hate to tell him — ” 

He rose and walked over to the window, shad- 
ing his eyes with his hand as he gazed forth into 
the gathering darkness. “ Where is he, any- 
way? ” he added. “ I told him not to take the 
mare too far. There, I guess that’s him coming 
now — ” for as if in answer to his question the 
sound of galloping hoofs smote on his ears, and 
presently the dim outline of horse and rider 
could be seen turning in at the gate, slackening 
their speed to a walk as they came to a halt out- 

226 


UNCERTAINTY 


227 

side the barn. Anderson, lighting a cigarette, 
resumed his seat, and a moment later Billy 
Whitfield burst into the room, bringing 
with him a general air of outdoor exercise, 
fine spirits and good health. He made at 
once for the open fire, drawing off his 
gloves and rubbing his hands briskly together. 
“ Bart, old man,” he cried, before his friend 
could speak, “ you were a brick to ask me out 
here. This has Bayport beaten to a crisp. 
Golly, but that’s a swell little mare; she’s a flier; 
we had a corking time. And what do you sup- 
pose for dinner, old top — I came in through 
the kitchen. Turkey! Do you get me, Steve? 
Turkey! Oh, what’s the use! And cranberry 
sauce. Say Bart, I hate to talk so much about 
myself, but on the level, cranberry sauce is my 
middle name. What do you say? Something 
to tell me? Ah, can it, Bart; can it. Why the 
gloom? Act young and happy, like me. Do 
you know where I’m going to tell my uncle I was 
to-day? I’m going to say I was down in Bay- 
port, hunting votes. He’d kill me if he knew 
I was loafing out here. Say, Bart, he’s keen as 


228 


PHAROS 


mustard on this railway business. We’ll all 
make a fortune, some day — ” 

“Billy! Billy!” cried Anderson again, his 
anguish increasing as Whitfield continued to 
rattle on, “ for Heaven’s sake, listen a minute. 
That confounded Legislature has gone and done 
it now. They’ve given the franchise to Green- 
field. Everyone’s talking about it. They say 
it’s a big defeat for your uncle — buck up, old 
man ” — for Billy had turned a greenish white in 
the face — “ I hope you didn’t plunge — ” 

Billy did not answer. “ Rot,” he managed 
to ejaculate, “ it isn’t true, Bart; it can*t be 
true — ” 

Anderson sighed. “ Oh, it’s true enough,” 
he rejoined, “ there’s no doubt of that. It’s all 
they’re talking about down town.” 

Billy braced himself as If to withstand a 
shock. “ How — how low did the damn stuff 
go? ” he asked. 

Anderson hesitated. “ I hate to tell you, 
Billy,” he replied, “ but she broke like the very 
old Nick. She didn’t act right all the morning, 
and then when the news came out, she busted 


UNCERTAINTY 


229 

right down to two and a half, and closed 
there.” 

Billy’s jaw dropped. Two and a half,” he 
repeated. “ Oh, no, Bart. She never went that 
low. You’ve got that wrong.” 

Anderson shook his head. I’m mighty 
sorry,” he answered, “ but that’s where she 
went. They run off awfully fast, you know, 
when they start to whack ’em. Did you have 
a big line of it? ” 

Billy groaned. “ Enough to put me in the 
devil of a hole,” he responded, “ if this is all 
so. Excuse me, Bart; I’m going to telephone.” 

Five minutes later he returned, his lips puck- 
ered painfully. “Well, you’re right,” he said 
shortly; “ she closed two and a half asked, and 
no bids. If that isn’t the limit, I’d like to know 
what is.” 

“ It’s the devil,” Anderson agreed. “ I’m 
darned sorry, Billy, and I’m sorry for your 
uncle, too. There’s been so much talk about 
this scrap. They say there was a lot more to 
it than appeared on the surface; that it was a 
kind of test of strength between your uncle and 


230 


PHAROS 


the other crowd. And they certainly got him, 
Billy; they did him up brown.” 

But Billy was not wasting much sympathy 
upon his uncle. As he stood gazing into the 
fire, a great sense of the unfairness of life swept 
over him. “ Don’t it beat hell, Bart,” he cried; 
“ here’s a man that’s right ninety-nine times out 
of a hundred, and the hundredth time of course 
has to be the one I’m in on. I can’t understand 
it, Bart; I swear I can’t. Why, just look at the 
whole thing — his sending me to Bayport, and 
all the rest of it. Why, I was positive ; I figured 
I couldn’t lose — ” then suddenly remember- 
ing that he had “ tipped off ” his friends, he 
added remorsefully, “ And, Lord, Bart, I told 
you and Holmes to buy it too. And now 
you’re stung. Oh, I’ve done a great job, all 
around — ” 

But Anderson, the soul of good-nature, has- 
tened to comfort him. “ Don’t you care, Billy,” 
he sympathized, “ it’s not your fault. I’ll tell 
you what we’ll do. I don’t suppose you’ll have 
to stick around Bayport any longer, so we’ll go 
down to my gun club in Virginia next week, get 


UNCERTAINTY 


231 

some good duck shooting, and forget all about 
this darned money game. What do you say? ” 

“ I say bully,” was Billy’s prompt response, 
but he did not dwell on the trip with his custom- 
ary enthusiasm, and presently added, “ Oh, 
Gee, Bart, but I feel like a sick cat. I guess I 
won’t do as much damage to your dinner as I 
thought I should,” and true to his predictions, 
his trencher work was of the lightest, and his 
night’s sleep restless, broken by uneasy tossings 
and vain regrets for the dollars vanished be- 
yond recall. 

Early the next morning, almost, in fact, be- 
fore the doors were fairly open, he appeared 
at the offices of Raymond and Allen. The 
junior partner greeted him with elaborate sar- 
casm. Well, that was a corking tip,” he ob- 
served bitterly; “you weren’t quite as far on 
the inside as you thought you were. It was the 
rottenest break in a stock that I ever saw. She 
went all to pieces in five minutes; everyone try- 
ing to unload at once.” 

Billy sighed. “ It must have been fierce,” 
he answered; “lucky we had those stop orders 


232 PHAROS 

In, Ned. I suppose I got out a lot better than 
most of the crowd.” 

“ Humph,” the broker retorted contemptu- 
ously, “ stop orders ! A lot of good they did. 
Suppose a dike bust, and you stood there with a 
pall and a mop, and said you’d stop the water 
coming through. That’s just what a stop 
order amounted to yesterday, my son. Here, 
look at this,” and he tossed Billy a typewritten 
statement of his account. 

Billy read It, and at once experienced a sense 
of physical nausea. “ Good Lord above us,” 
he cried, “ I didn’t think It was as bad as that. 
Why, It’s darned near broke me, Ned.” 

“ Serves you jolly well right,” said the broker 
remorselessly, “ and you’re not the only one 
that’s In bad, either. I thought you had this so 
straight that I advised a lot of my customers to 
buy, and now they’re every one of ’em cleaned 
out. It ought to be a lesson to you, Billy; just 
look at the harm you’ve done. I couldn’t sleep 
last night for thinking about It.” 

He spoke with an air of conscious virtue, as 
if the welfare of his customers was the one thing 


UNCERTAINTY 


233 


nearest his heart, wholly omitting to state that 
it was the fact of his own losses which had caused 
him all his agony. But this display of hyprocrisy 
was too much for Billy; the worm turned; and 
he blazed forth, “ Ah, cut It out, Ned. There 
never was a broker yet who ever cared a hoot 
about his customers — ” and then, perpetrating 
the one brilliant epigram of his career, he added 
triumphantly, “ If he did, why damn it, he 
wouldn’t be a broker — ” and forthwith he rose 
and took his way back to the office of the 
Honorable Staunton Whitfield. 

Outside his uncle’s door, he paused. “ What 
was that fool story they used to tell us at school 
about the Spartan boy and the fox? ” he mut- 
tered to himself. “ I know just how the poor 
guy must have felt. Bayport & Southern is 
gnawing my vitals, all right, and I suppose the 
Honorable feels a lot worse than I do. I guess 
the respectful sympathy gag is the one best bet 
to-day. ‘ Only wish there was something I 
could do to help you,’ and rot like that. Well, 
here goes — ” and with solemn visage he 
crossed the threshold of his uncle’s room. 


234 


PHAROS 


He had expected to find an old and broken 
man, crushed under the burden of defeat, and 
mourning his ruined plans and the loss of his 
prestige as the foremost street railway man In 
the State; but to his surprise, the financier had 
never appeared to be In better form. He was 
working busily at his desk, as alert, as keen and 
as vigorous as ever; from the red carnation In 
his buttonhole, up to the healthy, ruddy face, 
with the look of power In the pale blue eyes, 
nothing was changed. Billy felt his respect for 
his uncle Increase. “ He’s a game old sport, 
all right,” he thought to himself; and then, ac- 
cording to his plans, he said aloud, “ I’m aw- 
fully sorry, sir; sorry as I can be. I hope. If 
there’s anything I can do — ” 

But his uncle cut him short. “ Thank you, 
William,” he rejoined; “ you will remember that 
I told you we must be prepared. It Is a great 
triumph, of course, for my adversaries. I un- 
derstand that Greenfield & Northern Is posi- 
tively buoyant this morning; that the buying, 
according to the brokers, Is of the very best 
sort; evidently accumulation by the Insiders for 


UNCERTAINTY 


235 

permanent investment. Yes, it has been a 
crushing defeat for me; and the singular thing 
about it is that, as it now appears, newspapers 
and individuals alike, — everyone, in fact, but 
myself, — foresaw the outcome of the matter 
from the very start Interesting, isn’t it? ” 

Billy had never seen him so loquacious; evi- 
dently the blow had cut deep ; for there was an 
air almost of vindictiveness in the way the capi- 
talist phrased his words. And Billy, as he pro- 
ceeded to the next question in order, felt an 
admiration for his uncle’s nerve and coolness 
even greater than before. “ I suppose, sir,” he 
said, after a moment’s pause, “ there’s no use 
in my staying in Bayport any longer.” 

The Honorable Staunton was looking out of 
the window, his fingers beating a gentle tattoo on 
the arm of his chair. “ Why, I think I wouldn’t 
leave just yet, William,” he observed mildly; 
“ when I feel that there is no further use in 
your remaining, I will notify you.” 

Billy’s heart sank like lead. Yet there was 
but one thing to do, and he answered dutifully, 
“Very well, sir; just as you say.” Then, re- 


PHAROS 


236 

membering Anderson’s invitation, he added, 
“ I’ve not been feeling very well lately, sir; do 
you mind If I take a short vacation; not more 
than a couple of weeks or so?” 

The Honorable Staunton’s brows were raised 
ever so slightly. The casual way In which 
modern youth referred to vacations of “ a couple 
of weeks or so ” Invariably annoyed him. And 
thus he answered somewhat more stiffly than 
usual, “ I Imagine that a week will be sufficient 
to restore your shattered health, William. Let 
us call It a week, and I think that you had better 
start at once.” 

Billy, alarmed at his uncle’s manner, hastened 
to agree. “ Oh, yes. Indeed, sir,” he said quick- 
ly ;“ a week will do. I’m sure. Thank you, sir,” 
and regaining his own office, he sat for a long 
time Immersed In thought. “ There’s some- 
thing wrong,” was the upshot of his musing; 
“ he was acting awfully spry for a man that’s 
just had the stuffing knocked out of him. That 
was one queer thing, to begin with. And then 
why In the name of common sense does he want 
me to stay In Bayport? That’s what I can’t get 


UNCERTAINTY 


237 


through my bean. There’s a nigger in the 
woodpile, somewhere; I’d bet money on It,” and 
after further meditation, he consulted his bank 
account, stood for a moment Irresolute, and 
then closed the door of his office behind him. 
“ Might just as well be hung for a 
sheep as a lamb,” he muttered. “ Damned 
if I don’t try it,” and for the second 
time that day he betook himself to the brokerage 
house of Messrs. Raymond and Allen. As he 
neared their doors, he grinned sardonically to 
himself. ““ Well, here I go,” he said, “ good 
title for a play — ‘You can’t kill a sucker,’ or 
‘ They always come back for more,’ ” and enter- 
ing, he demanded of the junior partner, 
“ What’s Bayport & Southern selling for 
now? ” 

“ One and a quarter,” Allen answered 
promptly; “ she’s been to a dollar flat, and now 
she’s rallied the large amount of twenty-five 
cents. That’s the only comfort to it; she hasn’t 
got much further to go.” 

Billy was figuring his resources. “ Well, 
I’ll tell you what you can do,” he observed; 


PHAROS 


238 

“ you can buy me two thousand B. & S., at 
the market right away now.” 

The broker stared. “ Say, you crazy?” he 
demanded. “What’s the matter with you? 
Want to get stung twice in the same place? ” 

Billy reddened. “ I’m not asking for ad- 
vice,” he responded icily; “I’m giving you an 
order to execute. If you don’t want it, I can 
probably find someone else that does.” 

At the horrid vision of losing a customer’s 
business, the broker at once changed his tone. 
“ Oh, sure. I’ll execute it,” he said, more ami- 
ably, and hastened to the window to write the 
order before Billy might change his mind, while 
Whitfield, already half inclined to regret the 
step he had taken, returned to his office, repeat- 
ing to himself, “ There’s something mighty 
funny about all this. I’ll bet the Honorable has 
an ace up his sleeve right now, that nobody 
knows about but himself. And if he has. I’ll 
be wearing diamonds yet.” 

Curiously enough, there was one other man 
in Bayport who shared Whitfield’s views and 
this was old Caleb Eldredge. It took courage. 


UNCERTAINTY 


239 


moreover, to mamtain his position, for when the 
news of Greenfield’s victory came to Bayport, 
Nickerson, as Torella had predicted, became a 
hero, while Eldridge had to endure an unmerci- 
ful amount of rough “ jollying.” “ Pretty 
good stuff, Caleb — that Greenfield — ” 
“ When they going to levy an assessment on 
you — ” “ Honest men ain’t as scarce as you 

think they be — ” These were a few of the wit- 
ticisms dinned Into his ears. Yet he stood his 
ground without flinching, hung tenaciously to 
his Bayport stock, and In the privacy of his home 
reasoned with himself as follows: “ Some- 
body,” he meditated, “ went an’ tipped off 
everyone in town. An’ everyone In town — 
’ceptin’ me — is feelin’ fine, an’ stickin’ to their 
Greenfield & Northern at sixteen dollars a share, 
’cause the insiders are predictin’ twenty-five for 
it within three months, an’ fifty within a year. 
If you c’n believe what these fellers are tellin’ 
yer, gittin’ rich is so easy there ain’t no fun in 
it. An’ that ain’t accordin’ to natur’ ; It can’t be 
possible that everyone In this town — ’ceptin’ 
me — Is a’ goin’ to git away with It jus’ like 


240 


PHAROS 


rollin’ off a log. If they do, then I’ll turn 
Church Member an’ sign the pledge, an’ jus’ 
set down an’ wait for the Milendium to come 
along. That’s all there is to that. But these 
fellers might wake up some mornin’, jus’ the 
same, lafiin’ on t’other side of their mouths. 
’Cause a thing like this ain’t possible, without 
the world turns upside down.” 

Yet ten days passed; the world still main- 
tained its normal position; and so did the stock 
of the Bayport & Southern Street Railway; and 
the morning of the eleventh day found Billy 
Whitfield, returning from his shooting trip, 
seated at breakfast on the sunny side of the 
dining car, and gazing contentedly forth, be- 
tween mouthfuls, at the flying landscape. He 
had had a capital vacation. He had killed his 
share of ducks, and had won more than his share 
at bridge. Only the memory of his disastrous 
‘‘ flier ” in the stock market oppressed him; but 
like old man Eldredge, he refused to be utterly 
cast down, and still clung stubbornly to the be- 
lief that some mystery lurked behind the action 
of the traction shares, and that Bayport & South- 


UNCERTAINTY 


241 


ern, at the price he had paid for it, would some 
day prove to have been a most successful “ buy.” 
And if it ever did go up — Billy smacked his 
greedy lips at the thought of the “ line ” he was 
carrying. Why, at five dollars a share — at 
ten — at twenty — “Lord above us,” cried 
Billy under his breath, “ but wouldn’t I be coin- 
ing it, though.” 

He was still dreaming in this pleasant vein, 
and weighing in his mind the respective merits 
of a speed launch and a touring car, when the 
train halted at a station, and as it started again, 
a clamorous newsboy came swaying down the 
aisle, vigorously declaiming his list of “ mornin’ 
papies,” magazines, and “ best sellers.” The 
familiar name of the Journal struck on 
Billy’s ear, and he took the paper from the boy’s 
hand with that thrill of interest which the city 
man is bound to feel as he returns, after a stay 
in the wilderness, to the accustomed routine of 
business life. Huge black letters stared at him 
from the top of the folded page, and Billy mut- 
tered cynically to himself, “ More trouble, I 
suppose. A motor turned turtle, or a bi-plane 


242 


PHAROS 


smashed a wing. Or maybe another heiress run 
away with her riding master.” Then, settling 
back comfortably In his chair, he began to read. 
And as he did so, he gasped, and In a twinkling 
the color had faded from his face, for nothing 
else In the world could have caused him quite 
such a shock as this. “ A Day of Surprises,” 
the headlines ran, “ Unexpected Action of the 
Legislature causes Lively Flurry In Tractions,” 
and below. In comparatively smaller type, “ The 
original charter of the Greenfield & Northern 
Road has been found hopelessly defective. In 
consequence, the proposed extension cannot 
legally be granted. Stock slumps ten points In 
as many minutes. Bayport & Southern now has 
clear field, and rush of buying orders sends stock 
to seven and three-quarters, where It closes, with 
every prospect of a further gain to-morrow. 
The Honorable Staunton Whitfield Is credited 
with having pulled off a master stroke — the 
shrewdest and most successful ‘ raid ’ of his long 
career.” 

Billy leaped hastily to his feet, tipped the 
waiter a dollar, and leaving the remainder of 


UNCERTAINTY 


243 

his breakfast uneaten, strode hastily back to 
the parlor car. Over and over again he read 
the splendid news, though in his joy and excite- 
ment the letters dimmed and danced before his 
eyes, and the meaning of much that he saw 
scarcely penetrated his brain. The main facts, 
however, were gloriously clear. At a special 
hearing before the Legislature, concerning the 
petition of the Greenfield & Northern Railway, 
Messrs. Smith, Brown, Jones, Robinson and 
White, Attorneys for the Bayport & Southern, 
had succeeded in proving, with a vast display of 
technical learning, that the original franchise of 
the Greenfield & Northern had contained a hid- 
den flaw, and that their charter, in the eyes of a 
Court of Law, was not worth the paper upon 
which it was written — void ah Initio was the 
phrase — certainly a terrifying one to the hap- 
less holders of Greenfield & Northern stock. 
The petition of Bayport & Southern, which had 
lain dormant among the Street Railway Com- 
mittee’s files, had then been brought promptly 
forward, and now, unless disapproved by the 
Bayport Board of Selectmen, the franchise was 


244 


PHAROS 


as good as granted to the Bayport Road. If, 
by some unexpected chance, the Selectmen should 
not approve, then the Greenfield & Northern 
crowd, after due re-petitioning, re-granting and 
re-everything else, could eventually regain their 
lost franchise and their lost ground at the same 
time. This, however, the paper seemed to re- 
gard as most improbable; and scattered through 
the entire article were complimentary references 
to the Honorable Staunton, and his “ fine Italian 
hand.” He was pictured as a Napoleon, as a 
Machiavelli, and in more jocular vein, there 
were allusions to the difficulty of keeping a 
squirrel on the ground or of catching a weasel 
asleep. 

How Billy endured the remainder of the ride 
without “ busting something,” as he afterwards 
described it to Holmes, he never knew. Affec- 
tion and respect for his uncle fairly gushed from 
his heart. “ The wise old guy,” he meditated. 
“ Isn’t he a bird? And I thought he was grow- 
ing feeble. Oh, this is too good to be true. 
This is a scream — ” 

But when he was finally seated in the Honor- 


UNCERTAINTY 


245 

able Staunton’s office, he found his uncle not 
unduly elated by his victory, but the same care- 
ful and resourceful man of business as before. 
He received his nephew’s congratulations with 
a curt word of acknowledgment; then, after a 
brief pause, observed, ‘‘ It is the future which 
concerns us now, William, and not the past. 
There is one thing still before us — to elect you 
Selectman — and until that is accomplished, 
we must beware of overconfidence. Al- 
though,” he added, “ I imagine that by this 
time our friend Nickerson isn’t the factor in 
Bayport politics that he was. I understand 
that there is even a possibility that he may de- 
cide to withdraw from the contest altogether. 
If he should do so, of course you would then be 
left with a clear field, and we should be relieved 
of all further worry.” 

But Billy’s face, instead of brightening at the 
prospect of easy victory, grew troubled. “ I 
hope he doesn’t pull out,” he answered, “ I want 
the fun of licking him. I never liked that fel- 
low; he’s not my sort at all.” 

The Honorable Staunton sighed. It took all 


PHAROS 


246 

his powers of imagination, and a little more be- 
sides, to see in Billy a worthy successor to him- 
self and his many interests; for modern days 
and modern ways seemed to be producing a 
different breed of young men from those of forty 
years ago. “ This is a business proposition, 
William,” he replied somewhat severely; “a 
matter of dollars and cents; not a case of wish- 
ing to defeat anyone, unless that should become 
a necessary part of the transaction.” 

Billy hastened to assent. “ Oh, yes, sir,” he 
replied dutifully; “ of course,” but once in his 
own office, recounting the news to Holmes and 
Anderson, he repeated vengefully, “ Gee, I hope 
he doesn’t duck now. I’d like to put it all over 
that guy, for fair.” 

The Honorable Staunton’s prophecy that 
Nickerson would find himself a discredited man 
in Bayport struck near the mark; for on the 
afternoon of that same day, Tom, coming to an- 
chor off the island, found Caleb Eldredge wait- 
ing for him at the moorings, seated in a leaky 
skiff, and positively incoherent with excitement. 
“ Told ye so. Tommy,” he began crying, as soon 


UNCERTAINTY 


247 


as Nickerson came fairly within hearing; “ told 
ye so all the time. P’raps ye won’t talk so 
much now ’bout your ’fluential friends that don’t 
need the money, an’ want to help out the poor 
folks in town. P’raps ye won’t think now hon- 
est men is quite as thick as you s’posed they was. 
P’raps — ” 

Nickerson stared at the gesticulating figure. 
“ What you talkin’ about? ” he began, but be- 
fore he could proceed further, Eldredge jumped 
to his feet, and in imminent danger of capsizing 
the skiff, shrieked out, “ What am I talkin’ 
about? Why, all the papers is full of it. Bay- 
port is a’ goin’ to git the road; the stock’s a 
kitin’, an’ Greenfield & Northern is a’ bustin’ 
plumb to hell. Every man In town but me Is 
broke, Tommy. I told ye — I told ye — ” 

But Nickerson cut him short. “ ’Taln’t 
possible,” he cried; “Greenfield got the fran- 
chise. Why, you’re crazy, Caleb — ” 

Eldredge fairly snorted. “ ’Tis possible,” 
he rejoined In an even higher key. “ Don’t you 
know anythin^s possible to them damn lawyer 
chaps? They got six of ’em a’ workin’ on this 


PHAROS 


248 

franch-Ice, an’ they knocked her higher’n a kite. 
Oh, you’ll find out who’s crazy, an’ you’ll find 
out pretty darn quick, too. The gang is a 
waitin’ for you at Bates’ store, now. You got 
to come over an’ take your medicine. Tommy, 
an’ I tell ye, ye’ll git it smokin’ hot; if you don’t 
come to them, they’ll be cornin’ to you. An’ 
don’t you forgit that part of it, neither.” 

Nickerson’s face darkened. “ Oh, Pll come, 
all right,” he returned. “ What do they think? 
That I’m afraid? I’ve got nothin’ to be 
ashamed of. If I’ve been lied to, then we’re all 
in the same fix, an’ I’ve lost every cent I had in 
the blame stock, same as the rest of ’em. But 
if anyone thinks I got anythin’ to be scared of, 
you tell him not by a damn sight. I’ll be over 
soon as I’ve had a bite to eat, an’ listen to 
anythin’ they got to say.” 

He rowed hastily ashore; but found that his 
desire for supper had vanished; and if, at this 
same hour, he could have looked into Hezekiah 
Wentworth’s parlor, where the Deacon and 
Sarvy Torella sat talking together, doubtless 
his appetite would have been smaller still. 


UNCERTAINTY 249 

“ Now’s the time, Sarvy,” the Deacon was say- 
ing; “in scripture language, now is the ap- 
pointed time. For to tell the truth. If this 
thing ever gets down to a real fight for S’lect- 
man, I ain’t so certain sure that young Whitfield 
could win. He’s got great backing, but It 
would be a job for the Angel Gabriel himself 
to jump Into a town, run for office when he’d 
been there scarcely a year, an’ then expect to 
win out. An’ young Whitfield don’t bear no 
such startlin’ resemblance to the Angel Gabriel 
that they’d ever be mistook for one another. 
But — if we can bluff Tom Into withdrawin’, 
then we’re all right. And I think, Sarvy, we 
can do It. Tom’s one o’ these pious chaps that 
b’lleves In doin’ right, an’ all that, an’ if he once 
gets the Idea that he ain’t wanted for S’lectman, 
he’ll drop like a shot. You soak It to him 
good, Sarvy — here, listen to this — ” 

He fumbled In his pocket, and produced a 
clipping from one of the city papers. “ Here’s 
what they say about a feller that’s running for 
Alderman,” he observed: “‘He is tempera- 
mentally unfit, and the good of the city demands 


PHAROS 


250 

his defeat’ How’s that? You tell Tom 
Nickerson, right before all the crowd, that he’s 
temperamentally unfit to be a S’lectman o’ this 
town, an’ that the good of Bayport demands 
him to withdraw, an’ I bet you’ve got him. 
What do you say? ” 

“ Gosh, that’s great,” responded Torella, “ if 
I can only remember It, when the time comes. 
That ought to sting him good. Shall I call 
him a liar, too?” 

The Deacon nodded with emphasis. 
“ Sure,” he rejoined; “ and you do as you like 
about It, Sarvy, but If / were you. I’d hit him. 
You’re big and husky, and If you should knock 
him down, right before all the crowd — ” 

Torella looked doubtful. “Well, I don’t 
know,” he temporized; “Tom’s awful 
strong — ” 

“ Yes, he Is,” the Deacon cut in quickly, “ but 
no stronger than you be, Sarvy, and as I tell you, 
he’s pious; that’s where you got the advantage 
of him. He’s pious, and you ain’t. Why, if 
you call him them names, and knock him down, 
and he don’t hit back, he’s done — that settles 


UNCERTAINTY 


251 

that. He’ll never have a show for nothing In 
Bayport again. And ’twould make you,” he 
added craftily, “ even a bigger man than you be 
already. Might even put you In line for S’lect- 
man, when Whitfield gets through.” 

Torella’s eyes glistened. “ You’re pretty 
sure he wouldn’t hit back? ” he questioned. 

“ Pretty darned sure,” the Deacon affirmed 
earnestly; “he’s one of these ‘turn the other 
cheek also ’ fellers, Tom Is. No, I don’t 
b’lleve you’d run no risk at all.” 

Sarvy thoughtfully doubled up his arm, felt 
of his biceps, and was apparently satisfied with 
the result. He drew a long breath. “ I’ll do 
it,” he said. 

An hour later, Nickerson, pausing outside 
Bates’ store, could hear the sound of fervid 
oratory, and applying one eye to a crack In the 
door, beheld Sarvy “ speechifying ” to an In- 
terested audience perched on counter, hogs- 
heads, cracker barrels, wherever they could find 
a seat. “ I tell ye,” cried Torella, “ Nickerson 
was paid for this. He’s got the whole town In 
bad, an’ there’s only one way for us to pull out. 


PHAROS 


252 

Vote for Whitfield, and Bayport gits the road. 
Then we all — ” 

But here Manuel Antoine interrupted. 
“Yes, but If we elect Tom, he’ll vote ag’In the 
road, an’ Nat Rogers says he’s ag’In it, ’cause 
there’s been trickery an’ lyin’. An’ If them two 
vote ag’In It, then Greenfield gits the road again, 
an’ our stock’s just as good as ever It was. 
How about that, Sarvy? ” 

Torella sawed the air with his fist. “ But 
you can’t *lect him,” he declaimed. “ He ain’t 
no man for S’lectman. You know It, an’ I 
know It, an’ he knows It, too. No, sir, you 
want to buy Bayport stock — ” 

“With what?” Joe Surado Interjected rue- 
fully, but Sarvy did not heed him, and con- 
tinued, “ That’s the battle cry now, boys. 
Whitfield for S’lectman, an’ the road for Bay- 
port. An’ as for Tommy Nickerson — ” 

But at that moment the door opened, and 
Nickerson himself strode into the room. 
Somehow his attitude was not particularly sug- 
gestive of peace. His face was flushed, his 
voice scarcely under control. “ Boys,” he cried ; 


UNCERTAINTY 


253 

“ I’ve heard about enough; I don’t propose to 
stand by an’ let no man go on about me like 
this. Sarvy here is the feller that showed me 
a letter, signed by young Whitfield’s uncle, 
statin’ that Greenfield was goin’ to git the fran- 
chise. An’ now he’s tryin’ to make me out 
to be wrong.” He wheeled upon Torella. 
“ You’ve said I was paid for sayin’ what I did,” 
he shouted; “ you’ve said I got the town in bad. 
Now you want to apologize pretty quick, or 
there’ll be somethin’ doin’.” 

The great moment had come. No stage 
could have been more skillfully set. Nickerson 
stood in shadow; Sarvy, close to the window, 
in what would have corresponded to the 
strongest lime-light; the audience, silent and 
breathless, leaned forward, enthralled with de- 
light. “ He’s bluffing,” thought Sarvy to him- 
self, and forthwith he raised his hand and 
shook it dramatically. “ Tom Nickerson,” he 
began, and then, as the words of his great speech 
blurred in his mind, he went on desperately, 
“ you got to git out of this fight. You’re tem- 
porarily unfit to be a S’lectman of this town, 


254 


PHAROS 


an’ I demand you to withdraw, Tom Nickerson; 
I demand you to withdraw.” 

Nickerson, naturally enough astonished at 
this outburst, stood motionless, and Sarvy, mis- 
taking his inaction for awe and terror, made 
bold to pursue his advantage and cried accus- 
ingly, “ I never showed you no letter. There 
warn’t no letter. You was paid — ” 

Nickerson stepped forward, but his hands, to 
Torella’s relief, hung motionless at his sides, 
and his voice had subsided to utter calm. Yet 
his words were ominous. “ Sarvy,” he said 
slowly and distinctly, “ you’re a damn liar — ” 

It was Torella’s cue. He felt all the joy and 
power of a great actor at the climax of the 
play. And before Nickerson knew what was 
coming, Sarvy’s beefy fist had caught him full 
in the eye, and he went sprawling backward 
into the darkness, to the accompaniment of 
breaking boxes and rattling tins. 

There was a howl from the audience. And 
Sarvy, the hero, stood there, exactly as he had 
planned it, the conqueror, perhaps the future Se- 
lectman — for one moment he experienced the 


UNCERTAINTY 


255 

exultation of a glorious victory — and then, alas 
for human plans and human frailties, with a bel- 
low like that of a bull, Nickerson had regained 
his feet, and had rushed headlong at his ad- 
versary. He struck but one blow, but it is 
talked of, with bated breath, in Bayport to this 
day. Square on Torella’s chest it landed, and 
before its crashing impact Sarvy staggered back- 
ward, and with a yell of pain and fright, dis- 
appeared bodily through the window, carrying 
pane and sash with him in his fall. 

With one impulse, the crowd surged toward 
the door. “ You’ve killed him,” cried Lafe 
Turner, but as he reached the sidewalk, he 
burst into a great shout of laughter, for half- 
way down the street Torella’s bulky figure was 
traveling toward his home at a rate of speed 
well nigh incredible in its swiftness. “ Hi,” 
yelled Turner, “ look at him. A hundred yards 
in ten seconds,” but Manuel Antoine hastened 
to correct him. 

“Ten seconds be blamed,” he exclaimed; 
“ five’s nearer. ’Cause to have got where he is 


256 PHAROS 

now, he must ’a’ gone the first fifty yards in 
nothin^ at all/^ 

But as they turned back Into the store, they 
sobered again. Nickerson raised a hand for 
silence, and in spite of his rapildy swelling eye, 
there was dignity in his poise, and in his words. 
“ Boys,” he cried, “ Pm mighty sorry ’bout this, 
but everything’s just as I’ve told you. We’ve 
all been fooled together, but I ain’t a quitter. 
I’m in this fight to stay, and in it to win, and if 
you’ll b’lieve I’m tellin’ the truth, an’ll back me 
up, by golly, we can lick ’em yet.” 

Joe Surado leaped to the top of a cracker 
barrel, and waved an arm above his head. 
“ Hurray for Tom,” he cried; “ Nickerson for 
S’lectman, an’ the Road for Greenfield,” and 
his words brought forth such an answering 
shout that Sarvy Torella, already nearing his 
house at the other end of town, heard it, and as 
he entered, hastily bolted the door behind him. 

“ Wonder if I’m all here? ” he muttered rue- 
fully, and then, as he thought suddenly of the 
Deacon and his counsel, he added grimly, 
“ Pious I Pious be damned I ” 


CHAPTER IX 


BAYPORT ELECTS A SELECTMAN 

P romptly on the momlng following 
the meeting at Bates’ store, began the 
bitterest political battle that Bayport 
had ever known. It was not a fight between 
rival factions, on a squarely defined issue, but 
on the contrary, so many different considera- 
tions entered into the struggle that within a 
week the entire village was by the ears ; neighbor 
was arrayed against neighbor; friend against 
friend ; and for the first time in its history, Bay- 
port had become a town divided against itself. 

In the first place, even on the question of 
the right and wrong of the affair, sentiment was 
hopelessly mixed. Tom Nickerson, indeed, 
had called Sarvy Torella a liar, but Sarvy had 
retaliated by applying the same epithet to Tom; 
and while Tom’s reputation for truth was good, 
and Sarvy’s extremely dubious, and though the 

257 


258 PHAROS 

manner in which Nickerson had sent his adver- 
sary through the window in Bates’ store seemed 
to lend additional weight to his side of the con- 
troversy, yet on the other hand, whether inno- 
cently or not, Tom had certainly “ made the 
wrong guess;” had “gotten his friends in 
wrong,” and according to the claims of his ene- 
mies, now had to face the old, and extremely 
unpleasant dilemma of choosing to be regarded 
either as a knave or a fool. 

Yet to be perfectly frank, it was not so much 
the problem of right and wrong which agitated 
the voters of Bayport as it was the question of 
practical expediency. Nor was this to be won- 
dered at. Even the best of us, with nothing at 
stake, find it hard enough, in the matter of an 
election, to put all prejudice aside and come out 
squarely and flat-footedly for the best man. 
And now the citizens of Bayport found them- 
selves touched in a spot even more sensitive than 
their consciences — to wit, in their pocket books. 
Never, indeed, was a contest more perplexing. 
At first sight, it might have seemed that the ad- 
vantage lay with Nickerson, for a clear majority 


A SELECTMAN 


259 

of the voters had followed his lead in selling 
their Bayport stock and buying Greenfield, and 
now had no hope of seeing their money again, 
unless Nickerson’s election, and his vote against 
the road, should bring about the defeat of the 
Bayport & Southern franchise. Yet this ad- 
vantage was more apparent than real, for on 
the whole, Billy appeared to have by far the 
stronger backing in the fight, and it was still 
possible for anyone believing that Whitfield 
would be elected to re-sell his Greenfield stock 
and buy back Bayport instead. And thus, for 
those cautious individuals who like to be on the 
safe side, and hesitate to come out openly for 
one candidate in the fear of antagonizing the 
other, should he be successful, the situation was 
one of agony. There was no such thing as a 
“ hedge under one banner or the other, each 
citizen of Bayport must enroll his convictions 
and his dollars. It was the familiar problem 
of “ picking the winner,” and never was a win- 
ner more difficult to pick. 

Billy, to be sure, had most of the “ big men ” 
in the campaign behind him, and in addition to 


26 o 


PHAROS 


this he himself was far from being a weak can- 
didate. His speech, of course, was not the 
speech of Bayport; his ways were not Bayport’s 
ways; yet in the main, after his first disastrous 
experience on the coot line, his demeanor had 
been uniformly affable and polite, and he had 
gone about the business of making friends so 
assiduously that he had gained for himself the 
general verdict that “ for a city feller, young 
Whitfield was all right.” As for the fact that 
he was openly admitted to be merely his uncle’s 
representative in the town, while Nickerson’s 
supporters made the most of this, and talked 
bitterly of “ colonizing ” and of “ carpet bag- 
gers,” there were plenty of others who praised 
the Honorable Staunton for “ knowing how to 
play the game,” and in spite of boasted Yankee 
independence, perhaps both sides were secretly 
not ill-pleased that a man of the capitalist’s 
wealth and reputation had chosen their town as 
a battle ground, and was “ helpin’ to put Bay- 
port on the map.” 

At the head of Billy’s forces was Deacon 
Hezekiah Wentworth, he of the side-whiskers. 


A SELECTMAN 


261 


wily, suave, and with all the prestige of his 
long years of leadership behind him. Sensibly 
enough, he spent little time in attacking Tom, 
but instead urged the great benefit of the road 
to Bayport, and with all his eloquence appealed 
to local patriotism and pride. 

Next in importance to the Deacon were his 
two lieutenants. The first of these was Mr. 
Michael Sweeney, faithful adherent to the 
Deacon and his policies, and leader of a band 
of followers who were as “ solid ” as if they 
had hailed from some well-organized city \^ard. 
Theirs not to reason why — theirs not to argue, 
or to trouble themselves over the merits of the 
campaign — but theirs to vote, promptly and 
with care, according to the instructions of Mr. 
Michael Sweeney. 

The post of second lieutenant was ably filled 
by Sarvy Torella. Anywhere and everywhere, 
on the street, in the stores, down by the wharves 
and the float-stage, he would buttonhole the un- 
wary voter. “ For God’s sake, don’t disgrace 
yourself by votin’ for Nickerson,” was the bur- 
den of his song; “you can’t tell what a feller 


262 


PHAROS 


like that is apt to go and do. He’s got most 
of the town in bad already, and now he goes 
an’ cries baby over it. He ain’t to be trusted, 
Tom ain’t. If a man fools you once, then he^s 
to blame, but if he fools you twice, then you!re 
to blame. ’Twon’t do no good to vote for him, 
expectin’ he’ll stick to what he says; ’cause all 
he wants is to git elected, an’ then he’ll sell to 
the highest bidder. Why, he won’t even stay 
bought, Tom won’t.” 

Besides these able directors of his campaign, 
Billy had another advantage in the presence on 
the voting list of some two score “ Summer 
Residents,” men of substance who preferred the 
tax rate of Bayport to that of the city. These 
personages, in ordinary years, did not deem it 
necessary to appear at the polls, but now, under 
the influence of much vigorous urging from the 
Honorable Staunton Whitfield, they promised 
to attend in a body, and rebuke “ a common lob- 
ster fisherman ” for his temerity in daring to 
run against “ a gentleman ” by administering a 
crushing defeat to him, and thus “ teaching him 
to know his place.” 


A SELECTMAN 263 

Thus, by the Whitfield-Wentworth faction, 
Billy was extolled as the pattern of all the 
virtues, and Nickerson’s character was torn to 
shreds; but on the other hand, Tom and his 
friends refused to lie meekly down to be 
trampled on. On the contrary, they showed a 
most militant and unregenerate spirit, and Nick- 
erson himself, with his career in Bayport poli- 
tics and his reputation as a Bayport citizen, both 
hanging in the balance, went about his fight with 
a grim and dogged determination justly irri- 
tating to the other party. He called a spade a 
spade, and he called Sarvy Torella and the 
Honorable Staunton Whitfield a good deal 
worse than that, so that the Deacon was forced 
to revise his estimate of Tom as a “ pious ” in- 
dividual, and to dub him a “ backslider ” in- 
stead. Shoulder to shoulder with Tom fought 
those true friends, Manuel and Joe, and though 
Sarvy Torella, according to his custom, claimed 
that the “ Portugee vote ” was solidly in line of 
Whitfield, friends and foes alike derided him, 
well knowing that the fishermen of Bayport 
were nine out of ten for Tom. Old Mr. New- 


PHAROS 


264 

comb, too, lent the weight of his standing 
among the more conservative dwellers in the 
village to Tom’s cause, and ’BIjah Higgins, of 
Beechwoods, who had never forgotten or for- 
given Billy’s actions on the sacred “ coot line,” 
now proved an unexpected tower of strength, 
and as he possessed more Influence among the 
farming portion of the community than any 
other two men, Billy’s loss of temper on that 
cold December morning now bade fair to cost 
him dear. 

So the battle raged, and before It ended every 
known expedient in the political calendar had 
been brought Into play. Rallies, torchlight 
processions, oyster suppers, house to house can- 
vassing, nothing was left untried. And as for 
money, not only did the Honorable Staunton 
furnish It In such sums that Sarvy Torella’s 
eyes almost started from his head at the sight 
of It, but the “ Greenfield Interests,” untiring 
In their support of Nickerson, matched It, dol- 
lar for dollar, until the market price of votes 
reached a figure hitherto undreamed of, even 
by the most mercenary, and the delighted Sarvy, 


A SELECTMAN 


265 

bursting with justifiable pride, exclaimed exult- 
antly. “ A new high record for Bayport. By 
Gee, they can’t keep us down. Pretty soon, 
we’ll be famous all over the country, like Reno 
and Oyster Bay.” 

And now at length arrived the crucial “ night 
before.” Billy’s supporters rallied in the town 
hall, and packed it to the very doors. A city 
orator, imported for the occasion, told humor- 
ous stories which, though they had not the 
slightest bearing on the campaign, were none the 
less most joyously received. The Deacon him- 
self made a “ good, old-fashioned speech,” let- 
ting the eagle scream, and linking. In startling 
juxtaposition, the names of Washington, Jeffer- 
son, Lincoln, U. S. Grant and William Whit- 
field; while Billy, with a combined eloquence and 
mendacity which amazed even himself, told of 
his love for the town of Bayport, and of the 
happy days he had spent at the establishment of 
the hospitable Mrs. Stiggins. 

Altogether, it was a most Inspiriting occa- 
sion, and the odds certainly seemed to be swing- 
ing in Billy’s favor; yet all that night Tom, 


266 


PHAROS 


Joe, Manuel and Mr. Newcomb, seated In ex- 
ecutive session in the hose house, worked over 
the voting lists, and up In the distant Beech- 
woods ’BIjah Higgins, wasting his substance 
riotously in a farewell oyster supper, and nearly 
capsizing from the platform of the schoolhouse 
In his excitement, gave a spirited reproduction 
of the morning on the coot line. “ So I punched 
him In the belly,” he declaimed, ramming home 
an Imaginary boathook, “ an’ then I smashed 
t’other feller over the knuckles, an’ made ’em 
quit. He’s a pore, mean-sperrited cuss, young 
Whitfield Is, an’ we c’n run things in Bayport a 
spell longer, I cal’late, ’thout him a buttin’ in. 
We’ll mind our affairs, and let him ’tend to 
his’n,” and though the applause which greeted 
him was not as noisy as that which echoed 
through the town hall, sundry grunts and solemn 
nodding of heads signified that the men of 
Beechwoods had made up their minds that ’BIjah 
Higgins was right, and that henceforth no 
power on earth could change them. 

The morning of election day dawned clear 
and bright. Almost as soon as the polls were 


A SELECTMAN 


267 

open, ’Bijah and his followers put in an appear- 
ance — three huge barge loads in all — and on 
the side of each barge a huge cloth sign, let- 
tered in ’Bijah’s own hand “VOTE ERLY 
AND OFFEN.” It was his final contribution 
to the campaign, and Billy, standing at the door 
of the hall, and watching these grim, unsmiling 
men file by him, each reaching forth a calloused 
hand for a ballot, groaned in spirit, and felt 
that he would give half his fortune to be able 
to blot out that black day when he had incurred 
’Bijah’s wrath upon the coot line. 

Yet later he brightened again, for as the 
morning progressed, the “ city folks ” swung 
nobly into line for Billy and the road. Holmes 
and Anderson, knowing nothing of the merits 
of the controversy, but delighted to assist at a 
“ scrap ” of any kind, had lent their runabouts 
to aid in getting out the vote, while no less a 
person than Mrs. William Mortimer, knowing 
that electioneering was considered “perfectly 
good form ” on the “ other side,” graced the 
scene by appearing in the Mortimer motor, and 
observing Nickerson standing on the steps of 


268 


PHAROS 


the hall, surveyed him witheringly through her 
lorgnette, and then announced, quite audibly 
and with extreme disapproval, that he “ ap- 
peared to be a very common sort of person in- 
deed.” One other triumph she accomplished 
also, for Ben Lothrop, the oldest voter in town, 
who lived at the end of the Point, and who had 
steadfastly refused to be moved by the en- 
treaties of either party, could not withstand the 
spell of the big red machine, and was captured 
and brought in triumph to the polls to mark his 
cross upon the ballot. Later, In the tremulous 
voice of a very old man, he told his tale to 
Joe Surado. “ Lady asked a lot of ques- 
tions,” he confided, “ an’ I purtended to act a 
leetle might foollsher’n what I really be, an’ 
kep’ a’ noddin’, an’ not sayin’ nothin’, ’cause I 
wanted a ride in that pesky big m’bile. So 
finally she gits It In her head that Pm for Whit- 
field, an’ I comes aboard. Go? God! I 
sh’d say we did go. Never seen nothin’ to beat 
It. Hadn’t even no time to spit — an’ the 
funny part was,” he concluded, “ that when I 
gits inside the booth, my conscience up an’ says 


A SELECTMAN 269 

to me, ‘ Now, Ben, you mustn’t do nothin’ 
wrong,’ an’ so I votes for Tom” 

And thus, through the long day, the tide of 
battle swayed, now this way, now that; as Man- 
uel Antoine phrased it, “Apparently, in the 
long run, ’bout a case o’ boss an’ boss.” The 
Portuguese voters, to be sure, though gladly ac- 
cepting Sarvy’s hand-shake and proffered cigar, 
marched up to the polls in solid phalanx, and 
cast their ballots for Nickerson. But this was 
offset, about noontime, by the advent of Mr. 
Michael Sweeney, at the head of his gallant 
band. Their line of march, indeed, was scarcely 
as imposing as it might have been, for most 
of them had been exceedingly drunk the night 
before, but though staggering, they could still 
hear their master’s voice, and lurching unstead- 
ily through the gateway, each of them managed 
to mark a sprawling “ X ” in the space opposite 
Whitfield’s name. 

By four o’clock, the predicted “ biggest vote 
in the history of the town ” had become actual 
fact, and the polls were closed. The heavy 
balloting made it evident that the result would 


PHAROS 


270 

not be known until six o’clock, at least, and the 
hall, in consequence, was for the time being 
deserted. Yet the voters made no move to go 
to their homes, but stood grouped around the 
doors and on the village green, for though El- 
mer Sedgwick, moderator of the meeting, had 
announced that no “ leak ” in the counting of 
the votes would be permitted, no one for a mo- 
ment believed him, and it was for the thrill of 
receiving this forbidden news that the crowd 
remained at the polls. 

Tom and his supporters took their stand near 
the Church, while Billy and his lieutenants 
strolled away toward the pond; and at precisely 
half past four Manuel Antoine’s nephew sud- 
denly appeared, running at full speed toward 
Nickerson, while at the same moment Sarvy 
Torella himself was seen hastening toward the 
camp of the enemy. 

Tom unfolded the paper which the boy 
handed him, and amid a breathless silence, read, 
“First 200 votes; Whitfield, 114; Nickerson, 
86 .” 

There was a silence. Then Manuel whistled 


A SELECTMAN 


271 

sharply. “ Gee,” he cried, “ thought we’d do 
a little better than that.” 

Nickerson nodded. “ Not so awful good, is 
it?” he answered and as ’Bijah Higgins came 
hurrying up to hear the news, he called to him, 
“Your friend’s goin’ strong, ’Bijah; 28 votes 
ahead out of 200. Guess you Beechwoods 
fellers must have voted the wrong way.” 

Higgins brandished his fist in the air. 
“ Never you mind. Tommy,” he cried encour- 
agingly; “keep up your courage, boy. I 
’xpected he’d git the lead at the start. Them 
votes is all the rich folks that come late; don’t 
you see; they was the last to go into the box, an’ 
the fust to come out of it. You wait till old 
Beechwoods is heard from. We’ll put a crimp 
yi this feller yet. Tommy; just you watch and 
see. An’, if we don’t,” he added, “ I’ll tell 
you what I’ll do. I’ll tie crape to my whiskers, 
an’ leave town on the jump. Keep up your 
spunk. Tommy; we’ll git him yet.” 

The next bulletin, however, brought little 
consolation, and Tom, as he read it, shook his 
head, while from the group near the pond they 


PHAROS 


272 

could hear a cheer, for the message ran, “ 400 
votes; Whitfield, 218; Nickerson, 182.” 

Amid the general atmosphere of discourage- 
ment, only ’Bijah contrived to keep his courage. 
“Never mind,” he cried again; “ ain’t got to 
Beechwoods yet,” but Tom only answered rue- 
fully, 

“ You’re a good feller, ’Bije, an’ I like your 
grit, but I guess this is the time they got us.” 

And now the big hour hand on the town 
clock seemed to drag more and more slowly, un- 
til as it pointed to half past five, the messengers 
once more appeared. For a moment, Tom 
held the paper unopened in his hand, nerving 
himself for the worst, then quickly unfolded and 
read it; and as he did so, the figures danced be- 
fore his eyes, “600 votes; Whitfield, 301; 
Nickerson, 299; about thirty ballots left to hear 
from.” 

There was a wild yell, and then, with one 
accord, everyone started at once, pell-mell, for 
the hall, realizing that the result might now be 
announced at any moment. Never before had 
such a crowd assembled in the old building. 


A SELECTMAN 273 

Every inch of floor space was occupied, and 
even the ladies’ gallery above was thronged, 
conspicuous in the front row being Mrs. William 
Mortimer, and Edith Nickerson, with Thomas 
Nickerson, Jr., held firmly in her arms. And 
now Elmer Sedgwick, the moderator, stepped 
to the edge of the platform, and clearing his 
throat impressively, announced, “ For the office 
of Selectman, 626 votes have been cast. Of 
these William Whitfield has received 311, and 
Thomas Nickerson has received 315. Thomas 
Nickerson is accordingly elected Selectman of 
the town of Bayport — ” 

But the rest of his speech was lost. For 
while in the left of the hall, where Billy’s friends 
were grouped, there was utter silence, from the 
right, where the Nickerson crowd were seated, 
there sounded a mighty cheer. And then, as the 
noise died away, it remained for Thomas Nick- 
erson, Jr., to add the needed human touch, for 
catching sight of his father standing on the plat- 
form, he suddenly reached out his arms toward 
him, crying, “Daddy! He’yo, Daddy!” in 
such a tone of honest affection and good-will 


PHAROS 


274 

that the tension was momentarily relieved, and 
from friend and foe alike there burst forth a 
great shout of good-humored and sympathetic 
laughter. 

Immediately Mrs. William Mortimer rose 
majestically and stalked away from the gallery, 
while in her wake trailed burning words of in- 
dignation, among which could be heard, “ Dis- 
grace — outrage — a common lobster fisher- 
man — ” Yet Edith Nickerson scarcely heeded 
her, for her heart was beating high with pride. 
She was “Mrs. Selectman Nickerson,’’ now; 
those who had snubbed her in the past would 
have to pay for it, and as she watched her hus- 
band taking the oath of office, she applauded her 
own good judgment, feeling that she had chosen 
wisely, after all. 

But Billy Whitfield, hastily departing, felt 
no such joy — only the bitterest despair and 
disappointment. And as if for the crowning 
touch of all, just outside the doorway he came 
upon the hairy ’Bije, recounting to a fresh 
audience for perhaps the fiftieth time the events 
of the morning on the coot line. “ And so,” 


A SELECTMAN 


275 

Billy heard him say, “ I gave him a punch in 
the belly—” 

With averted face, he hurried on, filled with 
vain regrets and cursing the tricks which Fate 
had played him. “ Fm busted now, for fair,” 
quoth Billy Whitfield. 


CHAPTER X 


A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION 

O N the morning following the elec- 
tion, Billy appeared at his uncle’s 
office in a most unhappy frame of 
mind. Nor did the Honorable Staunton’s atti- 
tude tend to cheer him, for Billy had never seen 
him in a less amiable mood, and he ruthlessly 
cut short his nephew’s speech of apologies and 
regrets. “ I cannot conceive, William,” he re- 
marked icily, “ how a campaign, from beginning 
to end, could have been more stupidly or igno- 
rantly conducted than yours. If Hezekiah 
Wentworth, by any chance, did manage to omit 
anything which could help Nickerson’s cause, 
that blundering lieutenant of his — Tortoni, if 
that’s his name — immediately jumped into the 
breach, and did it for him. And of course this 
had to happen for the first time in all the twenty 
276 


DIFFERENCE OF OPINION 277 

years IVe known the Deacon. He has always 
proved himself a reliable man, but now, when 
I really need him, he has to go and inject into 
the fight some of his own ideas of Bayport di- 
plomacy. It is extremely disheartening — ” 
Billy sat listening in silence, feeling that the 
capitalist’s strictures were unjust and unde- 
served, yet since he feared that his own turn 
must be near at hand, lacking the spirit to defend 
his friends. Nor was he mistaken, for at length, 
after his uncle had to some extent exhausted his 
subject, he passed on to the misdemeanors of 
the luckless Billy. “ As for you, William,” he 
began, “ I will simply say this. If anyone could 
have outdone the Deacon and his friend Salvini 
in going directly contrary to all my plans, which 
appears, indeed, to be doubtful, that honor cer- 
tainly belongs to you. How, in the name of all 
that’s wonderful, after I had told you that the 
one essential thing was to make friends with 
these people — how you could then proceed to 
engage in a list fight with one of Bayport’s 
prominent citizens, over the ridiculous question 
as to which of you shot a duck — why William, 


PHAROS 


278 

it simply passes comprehension. I take It, of 
course, that what I have heard Is true ? ” 

Billy was studying the pattern of the carpet 
beneath his feet. “Yes, sir,” he admitted un- 
willingly enough, and without raising his eyes 
from the ground; “ yes, sir, it’s all true. I got 
excited — ” 

“ Exactly,” broke in his uncle ; “ but men who 
are running for office shouldn’t allow themselves 
to get excited. And further than that, Wil- 
liam,” he continued remorselessly, “ as long as 
you were going to fight, why didn’t you win? 
That might have put the matter in a little better 
light. But as I understand it, you let this Hig- 
gins get the better of you — both of you and 
your friend — ” 

Billy crimsoned. “Well, he had a boat- 
hook — ” he began, but his uncle did not allow 
him to proceed. 

“ That’s of no Importance,” he Interrupted, 
“ a boathook is mere matter of detail. The 
point is that he bested you, and I feel sure that 
this one circumstance alone was enough to turn 
victory Into defeat. And why, William — ” he 


DIFFERENCE OF OPINION 279 

went on, “ why, in the name of sober common 
sense, did you begin paying attention to Nicker- 
son’s wife? Really, not to put it too harshly, 
of all the utterly asinine performances — ” 

Billy raised his flaming face. “ I didn’t 
mean that to have anything to do with the elec- 
tion,” he answered, “ that was just — well, sort 
of a side issue, as you might say.” 

His uncle sighed. “ Well, as matters turned 
out,” he rejoined; “ it did have something to do 
with the election, whether you meant it to or 
not. From what I hear, I don’t doubt that your 
flirtation at the ball cost you a dozen votes, at 
the very least. Oh, the whole thing seems in- 
conceivable, William; if you had actually set to 
work to lose, I can’t imagine how you could have 
proceeded any differently. You’ve made a piti- 
ful showing — ” 

Billy’s eyes were once more upon the ground. 
For the first time in many years, he was sus- 
piciously near the crying point. And there was 
nothing to say — that was the worst of it. He 
gulped spasmodically, and muttered under his 
breath, “ I’m awfully sorry, sir — ” 


28 o 


PHAROS 


At last the financier appeared to take pity on 
his distress. “ Well,” he observed, more phil- 
osophically, “ of course it’s over with now — ” 
Billy raised his eyes. “ That’s the devil of 
if, sir,” he cried; “ if there was only something 
I could do to square myself. But it’s just as 
you say. The whole thing’s over with — ” 

The Honorable Staunton rose quickly to his 
feet, and began to pace the room with short, 
nervous steps. “ God bless my soul, William,” 
he exclaimed at length, “ I can’t understand you 
modern young men; you’re altogether beyond 
me. You’re soft, William; that’s the only 
word for it. You lack resourcefulness. You’re 
not the fighters that we were in our day. I 
didn’t mean that the whole affair was over with 
— I only meant the election part of it. Why, 
the real fight has only just begun. We’ll beat 
these fellows yet.” 

A great hope dawned in Billy’s heart. “ Do 
you mean it, sir? ” he cried. “ Why, I thought 
this settled everything. Rogers and Nicker- 
son are both against the road — ” 

The capitalist had resumed his seat. “ That, 


DIFFERENCE OF OPINION 281 

of course, is just the point,” he replied. If 
Rogers and Nickerson both vote against the 
road, there’s no hope for us. Consequently, 
that’s the very thing we must prevent. A vote 
of two to one kills us. We must have either a 
deadlock — one man opposed to the Deacon, 
and the other not voting — or better still, a vote 
of two for the road, and one against it. Either 
way, we win. It is only an express disapproval, 
under the Statute, shown by a majority vote of 
the Selectmen, that can defeat us.” 

But his words seemed to bring Billy no com- 
fort. “ Yes,” he rejoined, “ but how are we 
going to change ’em? You know what Nicker- 
son is. And Rogers, if anything, is worse. 
He’s one of these narrow, straight-laced New 
Englanders, who’s got the idea that there’s been 
what he calls ‘ trickery and false dealin’s’, about 
the road, and so swears he’ll never vote for it. 
I don’t see how it’s possible to change either 
of them.” 

The Honorable Staunton smiled indulgently. 
“ William,” he observed, “ you should take 
nothing In this world for granted. For Illustra' 


282 


PHAROS 


tion, let us consider your theory that both Nick- 
erson and Rogers are honest. It is true they 
have that reputation, but that Is just what handi- 
caps so many men. They somehow acquire the 
name of being honest, the world assents to It as 
a matter of course, and thus they are deprived 
of their chance of ever pulling off a really big 
thing. They’re honest, because they have no 
opportunity of doing anything that Isn’t honest. 
And moreover, William, there are all degrees 
of honesty. A man may be what Is sometimes 
called ‘ personally honest,’ and yet he’d lie his 
head off for his family’s sake. Now Rogers 
has a daughter, and Nickerson has a wife and 
baby. That puts us In a good position to start 
with. Why, we can get one of their votes, Wil- 
liam, so easily that when It’s done, you’ll laugh 
at yourself for ever having doubted It. And 
I’ll tell you how we’ll do it, too.” 

Billy gazed, fascinated, at this genial icono- 
clast, and felt hope spring once more to life. 
And as his uncle proceeded with the outline of 
his plan, he became every moment more optimis- 
tic. “ We must put our pride In our pockets. 


DIFFERENCE OF OPINION 283 

William,” the capitalist went on, “ and every- 
thing considered, I think we had better begin 
with Nickerson. Once more, in spite of your 
former failures, you are to be entrusted with a 
mission. And I hope that this time — ” 

But the enthusiastic Billy could not wait for 
the completion of the sentence. “ Oh, I’ll do 
anything,” he cried; “just give me a chance to 
square myself — that’s all.” 

His uncle nodded approval. “ That’s the 
right spirit,” he remarked; “ and I rather think, 
William,” he added drily, “ that your present 
task presents a splendid field for the exercise of 
your somewhat peculiar talents. For what I 
want you to do is to go over to the Island with 
a message for Mrs. Nickerson.” 

Billy crimsoned once more. “ Are you — 
are you serious, sir? ” he at length managed to 
ask. 

“ Absolutely,” replied his uncle. “ I am not 
in a humorous mood, William — and while we 
are on the subject,” he added, “ and since you 
happen to be something of an authority, let me 
make sure this time that my information is cor- 


284 PHAROS 

rect. I understand that this Mrs. Nickerson, 
is young, pretty and attractive. Is that so?” 

“ Yes, sir,” Billy replied, not without shame, 
“ that’s so.” 

“And I understand further that Nickerson 
is devoted to her.” 

“ Yes, sir, that’s right, too.” 

“ And that she isn’t a woman of any remark- 
able intelligence.” 

“ No, sir; about like the rest of them.” 

“ And that she’s fond of a good time, and of 
pretty things.” 

“ Yes, sir; about like the rest of them.” 

“ Very well.” The Honorable Staunton had 
concluded his cross-examination, and now con- 
tinued, “ You are to tell her this, William,. 
That her husband has given us a beating, and 
that in exchange for it we’re going to befriend 
him, and take him into our camp. He is going 
to vote for the road, and we are going to make 
him our local representative of the Bayport & 
Southern, at a salary of three thousand dollars 
a year. Don’t of course speak as if there were 
any possibility of his refusing — simply con- 


DIFFERENCE OF OPINION 285 

gratulate her, and tell her how lucky she is — 
you can put on the artistic touches as they may 
occur to you. Do you understand? ” 

Billy nodded dutifully, but It was easy to see 
that he did not relish his task. “ What a 
cinch for Nickerson,” he could not help re- 
marking. 

The Honorable Staunton raised his eyebrows. 
“To the victors — ” he quoted, and Billy has- 
tened to agree. 

“Yes, sir, that’s right,” he answered; then 
added, “ Excuse me, sir. If I’m asking a stupid 
question, but where Is Nickerson supposed to be, 
all this time I’m calling on his wife? ” 

His uncle rose, as If to conclude the Interview. 
“ Nickerson,” he responded, “ will be In this 
office, listening to my proposal. And while he’s 
considering It, and turning it over In his mind, 
he goes home to his wife, and finds her In the 
seventh heaven of happiness, under the Impres- 
sion that the whole matter Is already settled. 
If she’s as charming as she’s reported to be, how 
much chance has he got? I should say a very 
slim one, indeed. If he has any doubts at all. 


286 


PHAROS 


he ought to relinquish them for his wife’s sake. 
How does it look to you, William? ” 

Billy gazed at this wily man of affairs with a 
feeling akin to reverence. “ Uncle Staunton,” 
he rejoined, “ you’re a wonder. I know you 
don’t like slang, but all I can say is that I’ve 
certainly got to hand it to you — there’s no 
other way of expressing what I mean. And if 
I miss fire this time. I’ll tie a rock around my 
neck, and jump off the Bayport dock. Good 
night, sir; I’m going to start for the Island 
now.” 

The town clock was striking eleven as Tom 
Nickerson rowed slowly home across the har- 
bor, yet as he drew near shore, he could see 
that in spite of the lateness of the hour, the 
kitchen was brilliantly lighted, and a sudden 
fear assailed him. “ Hope the boy isn’t sick,” 
he muttered, but as he beached the skiff and 
walked quickly toward the house, it became evi- 
dent that the illumination was not one of danger, 
but of rejoicing, for through the window he 
could see the table spread with a bountiful sup- 


DIFFERENCE OF OPINION 287 

per, and as he opened the door, his wife, dressed 
in her best, and looking her prettiest, fairly 
threw herself into his arms, kissing and embra- 
cing him with a fervor which she had not dis- 
played for many a day. “ Oh, Tom,” she cried, 
“ isn’t it splendid! I’m so delighted, I don’t 
know what to do. I could hardly wait for you 
to get home. Just think of it. They had to 
come to you, and beg you. And the money — 
oh, Tom — ” 

Nickerson stood gazing at her in amazement. 
“Who’s been here?” he asked shortly. 

But she did not appear to notice his manner. 
“ Billy Whitfield,” she answered; “ and he was 
awfully nice about it, Tom. He told me how 
you’d beaten them, and how they’d got to have 
you with them, and about the position you’re go- 
ing to have. He says there’ll be a lot for you 
to do; and a great deal of responsibility; and 
just think of the money, Tom — three thousand 
dollars a year. And he says there’ll be other 
chances, too. That anyone who’s in with his 
uncle — ” 

Nickerson held her from him at arm’s length, 


288 


PHAROS 


gazing at her sternly as though seeking to dis- 
cover whether her delight was real, or whether 
she was acting a part, and had entered into 
league with the Whitfields to make the ordeal 
too hard for him. Yet as he looked into her 
eyes, he felt at once that his suspicions were un- 
founded, for she glanced back at him fearlessly, 
and with a joy too genuine to be assumed. 
“Just think, Tom,” she chattered on; “think 
of all we can do. We can move to town — we 
can keep a maid to do the work and look after 
the baby — and now that you’re getting ahead, 
Tom, I really ought to dress better — I haven’t 
any clothes at all — ” 

“Stop, Edith! Stop!” he cried; “you’ve 
got this all wrong. I’m not going to take the 
job, and I’ve told them so to-night.” 

If he had dealt her a blow in the face, he 
could not have surprised her more. She stood 
staring at him, incredulous. “ Why, Tom,” 
she stammered at length, “ you don’t mean that. 
You can* t mean that. Not take the job — ” 

He pulled a chair in front of the fire, and sat 
down, as if physically spent and exhausted. “ I 


DIFFERENCE OF OPINION 289 

can’t do it,” he said again; “ I can’t vote for the 
road. I gave my word the other way, and I 
can’t go back on it now.” 

She sank on her knees beside his chair, and 
like a person pleading for life itself, she took 
his hand in both of hers. “ But, Tom,” she en- 
treated, “ it isn’t wrong to change your mind. 
Everyone does that. It isn’t as though you 
were harming anyone. Billy Whitfield told me 
especially — that every man who lost money 
through your changing your vote would get it 
back from his uncle, cent for cent. Nothing 
could be any fairer than that. Why, you must do 
it, Tom; it’s the greatest chance we’ve ever had. 
And there’s nothing wrong about it,” she re- 
peated; “ you’re not harming anyone at all.” 

Nickerson, as though scarcely heeding her, sat 
gazing straight before him. “ No money 
harm,” he answered at length, “ but here’s the 
trouble, Edith; this crowd ain’t honest. We 
been goin’ over the whole thing — me and 
Staunton Whitfield — for the last three hours, 
straight from beginnin’ to end, an’ what do you 
s’pose ? He owns right up to it, that he wrote 


290 


PHAROS 


that letter to Sarvy, an’ he says he ain’t ashamed 
of doin’ it, either — that he told the truth, that 
Greenfield was goin’ to git the franchise. As 
to what was goin’ to happen after that, he claims 
he didn’t say, an’ that if I went an’ chose to 
jump at c’nclusions, that was my own foolish- 
ness. He says a fisherman like me ought to 
know better’n to bite at a bare hook, an’ that 
that’s just what I went an’ did. An’ of course, 
in one sense of the word, he’s right — ” 

His wife broke hastily in upon him. “ Why 
yes, of course,” she cried eagerly; “ I don’t sup- 
pose he meant any harm. Everyone does like 
that in business, Tom; it’s not the same as other 
things — ” 

“ That’s just what he said,” returned Nicker- 
son. “He said I had a lot of queer ideas — 
that New England consciences had gone out of 
date, an’ ought to be cut out, just like peoples’ 
’pendixes. He claims that everything’s a fight, 
these days, and that it’s pleasanter to eat than 
be eaten — better be a sparrow-hawk, he says, 
than a sparrow. But ’tain’t so, Edith — ” he 
continued vehemently. “ Here he is, with all his 


DIFFERENCE OF OPINION 291 

money, an’ here’s the rest of us in Bayport, 
needin’ every cent we c’n scrape together, an’ 
yet he went an’ deliberately schemed to fool us 
out o’ what we had. You can argue, much as 
you please, but that ain’t right — a lie’s a lie, 
same as a pill’s a pill, whether you take it plain 
or go an’ fix it up with a sugar coatin’ on th’ out- 
side of it. An’ that’s all there is to that.” 

“ But, Tom,” she cried, “ it’s all past and 
gone now. Probably they’re sorry for what 
they did ; but anyway they’ll fix things right for 
everyone. And it’s only fair that you should 
have something, Tom, for working the way you 
have. Why, just think of it; look at what 
you’ve done. You’ve fought them all — the 
Deacon, and Sarvy Torella, and Michael 
Sweeney, and now a man as big as Mr. Whit- 
field has to come and ask a favor of you. Why, 
it’s the greatest compliment, Tom — ” 

But he interrupted her in his turn. “ Well, 
that’s how I felt, first,” he acknowledged, “ but 
the more I came to think of it, the less like a 
compliment it ’peared to be. I cal’late really 
it’s t’other way around. Why didn’t they go 


292 


PHAROS 


to Nat Rogers, to git him to vote for the road? 
’Cause they know he’s a good square feller 
that’s always been ag’in trickery, an’ everythin’ 
like that, an’ ’twouldn’t do ’em no good to try. 
So they come to me instead. I reckon, as I say, 
’tain’t a compliment, after all. An’ I won’t 
give in to ’em, neither, ’cause they been crooked 
from the start, an’ damned if I’ll sell my 
vote for a job nor nothin’ else.” 

There was a silence, and then the woman, 
as if deciding to abandon this ground of argu- 
ment, rose and seated herself on his knee, twin- 
ing her arms about his neck. “ But Tom dear,” 
she whispered, “even if it isn’t — not exactly 
what you’d call right — still I think you ought 
to do it, for all our sakes. We’ve got to look 
out for ourselves first — everyone has to do 
that. And think of the difference it would 
make. Your father’s pretty old, Tom — you 
could do a lot for him — and there’s the boy, 
Tom. And I ought to count for a little some- 
thing.” 

She pressed her lips against his, and the ardor 
of her caress seemed to be somewhat greater 


DIFFERENCE OF OPINION 293 

than the occasion warranted. “ Please, dear,” 
she murmured, “ please do. We’ll be so happy, 
Tom — ” 

There was silence in the kitchen, unbroken 
save for the singing of the kettle on the stove 
and the measured ticking of the clock. And in 
that moment Tom Nickerson took a long look 
ahead through the years — saw all that he would 
lose, saw all that he would suffer, thought of 
everything his wife had urged — then fought his 
fight, and won. He gently disengaged her 
arms from around his neck, and rose to his feet. 
“ I’m sorry, Edie,” he said, “ but I guess I can’t 
do it. Though I hate mighty bad to disappoint 
you.” 

She walked over toward the window, and 
stood for a moment looking out into the night. 
When she turned, her face was very cold and 
hard. “ I’m not going to tell you this won’t 
make a difference, Tom,” she said, ‘‘because it 
will. A man can’t understand. I want so 
many things — things that ’most every woman 
in the world has except me — things I’ve 
dreamed about all my life — and now my chance 


294 


PHAROS 


comes, and you won’t take it, Tom. I thought 
you loved me more than that. I wish I’d 
known, before I married you.” 

The words cut deep, and perhaps she saw the 
change in his expression, for at once, as if still 
hopeful of victory, she murmured, in a very 
different tone, “Oh, Tom, can’t you see — it 
isn’t much to ask — you’ve only to say ‘ yes ’ 
instead of ‘ no.’ ” 

He stood gazing at her, and very beautiful 
she looked in the mellow lamplight, against the 
background of the darkened pane. Yet steal- 
ing across the water, and glimmering faintly 
through the room, flashed the gleam from the 
distant lighthouse, and Nickerson, with a sigh, 
slowly shook his head. “ I’m sorry, Edie,” he 
said again, “ but I guess it’s got to be ‘ no.’ ” 


CHAPTER XI 

NAT ROGERS MAKES UP HIS MIND 

T he morning of the thirteenth of 
September dawned calm and clear 
over Bayport. Joe Surado, churn- 
ing out from the harbor, a half hour before day- 
break, from time to time glanced anxiously at the 
dim outline of the Island. “ Hope he ain’t gone 
yet,” he muttered; “ if he has, I s’pose I’ll have 
to chase all over the bay to find him. Serves 
me right for not startin’ sooner,” but a moment 
later, as the light in the east grew stronger, he 
perceived Nickerson in the act of boarding his 
dory, and with an exclamation of relief, he 
shoved his helm to port, and presently, as he 
neared the beach, stopped his engine and let his 
boat run. “ Hullo, Tom,” he hailed; “ thought 
I’d missed you. I reckon you ain’t on time, 
neither, this mornin’.” 


295 


PHAROS 


296 

Nickerson’s answering tone was not quite as 
genial as customary. “ You bet I ain’t,” he re- 
sponded ; “ had to git my own breakfast. Edie’s 
gone visitin’.” 

Surado, knowing how matters were going 
at Nickerson’s home, could read between the 
lines. “That so?” he queried with interest. 
“ Has she gone for long, Tom? ” 

“No, not for long,” Nickerson answered; 
“ back in a couple of days, I guess. Took the 
boy an’ went to stop with Bill Lincoln’s girl, 
over to the Point. Damn this engine” — ^he 
added with unusual warmth, as he cranked vig- 
orously without getting a response, — “ she was 
goin’ great yesterday. Wonder what’s struck 
her now? ” 

“ Oh, she’ll go in a minute,” Joe replied com- 
fortingly; “they always act funny, this time in 
the mornin’, ’fore they git warmed up. Prob’ly 
there’s some gasolene in the base of her. Say, 
Tom,” he broke off abruptly, “ how things 
goin’ ’bout the road? You got to vote on it 
day after to-morrow, ain’t you?” 

“ Sure,” Nickerson assented; “ that’s the time 


NAT ROGERS 


297 


we meet, ’cause it’s the time we got to meet. 
It’s the last day for talcin’ action, under the 
Statute. We’d ought to have done it long be- 
fore, but the Deacon’s been away, so we kept 
puttin’ it off. Don’t make no difference, 
though; we’ll settle it now, in short order. 
They say old Hezekiah’s madder’n a wet hen, 
but I don’ know what he c’n do ’bout it. Nat 
an’ I are ag’in the road, till hell freezes; so I 
guess that fixes it. It’s a sure thing, un- 
less,” he added humorously, “ one of us drops 
dead, or breaks a leg.” 

Surado reflected in silence. “ Sure things 
is awful scarce. Tommy,” he remarked at 
length; “ a feller can see that, from watchin’ all 
this business ’bout the franchise. An’ speakin’ 
of hell freezin’, Tom, are you so certain positive 
you c’n count on Nat? ” 

Nickerson, knowing from experience that 
Joe was not given to talking without a purpose, 
glanced sharply up at him. “ What you mean 
by that? ” he demanded. 

“ Oh, nothin’,” Joe replied non-committally, 
“ only I was wonderin’, if he was so all-fired sot 


PHAROS 


298 

ag’in the road, what young Whitfield was doin’ 
up t’ his house last night? ” 

Nickerson rose quickly to his feet. “ Whit- 
field,” he repeated incredulously, “ was at Nat’s 
house last night? Like ducks he was.” 

But Joe was not to be shaken. “ He was 
there, all right,” he reiterated. “ I know it for 
a fact, ’less my eyes ain’t what they used to 
be.” 

Nickerson’s face grew troubled. “ What 
time was he there?” he queried. “An’ how 
d’you happen to see him, Joe? ” 

“ ’Twas ’bout nine o’clock,” Joe responded. 
“ I’d put the cat out, an’ ’twas such a pretty 
night I kinder strolled down far as them big 
high-draingers ’longside the gate. Fust thing 
I knew, I see a man come walkin’ along the 
road, down from Nat’s house. He stops right 
in front of where I was standin’, fumbles ’round 
in his pocket a spell, an’ then strikes a match, 
an’ goes to lightin’ one o’ them pesky cigarettes. 
Match makes quite a flash out there in the dark, 
an’ I see the feller is Whitfield.” 

Nickerson’s frown deepened. “ That’s 


NAT ROGERS 299 

funny,*’ he muttered to himself; “darn funny. 
You dead sure it was him, Joe? ” 

“Certain sure,” Joe answered; “an* look 
here, Tom,** he added Impressively, “ this was 
what set me to thinkin*. I got a good look at 
him when he was lightin* up, an^ he had a grin 
on his face, from ear to earT 

The words were not lacking In effect. “ The 
hell you say,** cried Nickerson; then added 
quickly, “Whereabouts is Nat hauling, 
Joe?** 

Joe pointed to the north. “ Fog Ledge,** he 
answered, “ an* another string off the Tree 
Ground. He’s got out a hundred an* fifty pots, 
this year. So he starts dretful early In the 
mornin*. I expect he’s out on Fog Ledge 
now.” 

Nickerson once more cranked viciously at his 
wheel, and this time the engine responded. 
“ There,” he exclaimed, “ got her goln*, any- 
way. Well, I’m much obliged, Joe. Nat’s 
all right about this railroad business, but If I get 
a chance by and by. I’ll run out an* 
speak to him, just to make sure there’s nothin* 


300 


PHAROS 


wrong. But you needn’t worry, Joe; Nat 
Rogers, he’s straight as a string.” 

Joe shrugged his shoulders. “ Maybe he 
is,” he answered, “ but you know what old man 
Eldredge said up t’ the hall. ‘ Good men is 
scarce,’ an’ hanged if I ain’t cornin’ ’round to 
his way o’ thinkin’,” and both starting their 
engines at the same moment, they sped seaward, 
side by side. 

Off Gull Ledge, Joe waved his hand, gave his 
tiller rope a jerk, and shifted his course to the 
eastward, while Nickerson bore away in the 
opposite direction, to haul his Black Rock string. 
Yet his mind was not on his work, for what Joe 
had told him disturbed him more than he cared 
to own. At first, he tried to ridicule himself 
for his fears. “ Pshaw, Nat’s all right,” he 
repeated a dozen times, yet the doubt would not 
leave his mind. What was Whitfield doing at 
the house? That was the hard question to 
solve; and Joe’s significant words, “ He had a 
grin on his face, from ear to ear,” did not fur- 
nish a satisfactory answer to the problem. And 
thus he argued and worried until, about half 


NAT ROGERS 


301 


way through his string, he came to a sudden 
resolve. “ Confound it all,” he muttered to 
himself, “ Fve got to see him. I can’t stand 
this,” and with the words turned the dory’s 
head toward the open sea. 

Far out on Fog Ledge, a tiny spot against 
the blue showed where his fellow Selectman was 
hauling, but as he approached, the distance be- 
tween the two boats did not seem to diminish, 
and it soon became evident that Rogers was also 
under way, heading straight to the northeast. 
Somehow, the manoeuver struck Nickerson with 
disfavor; for though Joe had said that Rogers 
had a string of pots on the Tree Ground, and 
though it was plainly in that direction that he 
was bound, at the same time the impression that 
the dory was avoiding him grew stronger in his 
mind. He set his jaw stubbornly. “ We’ll 
see,” he remarked, “ I reckon I c’n travel about 
three feet to his two; an’ at that rate I ought 
to git him somewhere this side o’ the Cape ” ; 
and he renewed the oil in the cup, gave the 
engine a trifle more gasolene, and held the 
Edith Nickerson steady on her course. 


302 


PHAROS 


But if Rogers had had any idea of escape, 
he now abandoned it, and when he reached the 
Tree Ground, went methodically to work haul- 
ing his string. His greeting, too, as Nickerson 
drew alongside, was cordial. “ Hullo, Tom,” 
he hailed, “what you doin’ away out here? 
You ain’t got no pots out this fur, have you? ” 

Nickerson allowed his dory to drift alongside, 
and laid hold of the other’s rail. “ No, I’m 
further inshore,” he replied; “ I just ran out to 
have a word with you, Nat. We got to vote on 
the road, you know, the day after to-morrow. 
I s’pose of course you’re still ag’in the Dea- 
con?” 

Rogers was in the act of hauling a pot over 
the side, and as he bent forward to take out the 
big lobster struggling within, his answer was 
lost. Yet his low tone, and his averted eyes, 
did not tend to reassure Nickerson, and he re- 
peated his question sharply, “You’re still ag’in 
the Deacon, I s’pose, Nat?” 

Rogers had shoved the trap over the side, 
but still his eyes did not seek Tom’s. “ Why, 
yes,” he answered unconvincingly; “far as I 


NAT ROGERS 


303 

know now, I cal’late I’m ag’in the Deacon, 
Tom.” 

His words said one thing; his tone another; 
and Nickerson felt no further doubts. “ Far 
as you know now,” he repeated. “ That 
seems a funny thing to say.” Then, determined 
to come to the point at once, he added, “ Look 
here, Nat, what was Whitfield doin’ at your 
house last night? ” 

Rogers made no answer. A dull flush 
mounted in his thin cheeks, and drops of sweat, 
not due to his exertions in hauling, stood out on 
his forehead. “ Wh-wh- what’s that? ” he stam- 
mered; and then, not daring to risk a denial, he 
struggled to throw an air of nonchalance into 
his reply. “ Whitfield? ” he repeated. “ Why 
yes, Tom, he was up to the house a little while. 
Just a friendly call, Tom; that’s all; just a 
friendly call.” 

His embarrassment was obvious, but Nicker- 
son showed no mercy. “ Just a friendly call,” 
he repeated in his turn; “ well, that’s interestin’. 
An’ did you happen to talk railroad, Nat? ” 

Rogers gasped; for a lie was something 


PHAROS 


304 

wholly beyond him, and even dissimulation came 
hard. And thus, with an attempt at indiffer- 
ence half humorous, half pathetic, he conceded, 
“ Well, maybe we did jus’ speak of it, Tom. 
Nothin’ special, though. We was talkin’ other 
things, too, you understand. Gunnin’, an’ 
boatin’, an’ such.” 

Nickerson was thinking hard. “ Oh, sure,” 
he assented, though scarcely aware of what he 
was saying; “ gunnin’, an’ boatin’, an’ such. 
Sure. Of course.” And there was a mo- 
ment’s silence before he continued, “ An’ so, on 
the whole, Nat, you ain’t made up your mind 
just how you are goin’ to vote, after all. You 
don’t quite know whether you’re ag’in the road 
or for it? ” 

Rogers, brought fairly to bay, nerved him- 
self for the struggle. “ Well, now, look here, 
Tom,” he began; “that road would certainly 
boom things in Bayport. Everyone says that. 
You can’t deny it yourself, now can you? ” 

Nickerson assented patiently to the time- 
worn argument. “ No, I can’t deny it, N^t,” 
he responded, and Rogers, emboldened, went 


NAT ROGERS 


305 

on, “ An’ I got a right to vote the way I please, 
anyway. I ain’t never made no regular prom- 
ise to no one, same as you done, Tom; an’ I 
never went an’ gave folks no tips, neither. So 
if I want to think things over, an’ then decide 
what’s the right way to vote, why that’s my 
business, an’ nobody else’s. An’ I don’t see 
where there’s anyone got a kick cornin’, Tom; 
not you, nor no one else.” 

As he listened, Nickerson’s heart sank and 
his courage ebbed. Clearly, Joe’s suspicions 
had been correct, and here, at the very last mo- 
ment, the balance of power appeared to have 
shifted to the enemy. And after a further 
pause, he asked, “ What did he offer you, 
Nat?” 

At once, Rogers bristled with indignation. 
“ He didn’t offer me nothin’,” he rejoined. 
“ You ain’t got no call to insult a feller, by sayin’ 
a thing like that.” 

But Nickerson was not to be denied. Oh, 
I don’t mean he pulled out a roll,” he replied, 
“ an’ told you to peel off what you wanted. 
That ain’t the way them fellers do things. But 


PHAROS 


306 

you can’t tell me that Whitfield never promised 
you nothin’ but friendship, if you could see your 
way clear to votin’ for the road. There was 
somethin’ more than kind words to it, now 
warn’t they, Nat? ” 

But Rogers had evidently had one idea 
drilled firmly into his mind, and he clung to it 
desperately. “ You got things all wrong. 
Tom,” he declared; “there ain’t no bargain to 
this at all — ” 

Nickerson broke In upon him. “ No, no,” 
he Interrupted, “ of course there’s no bargain. 
You’re going to vote as you see fit. If you 
happen to vote for the road, that’s your busi- 
ness, as you say. And if the Whitfield crowd 
are lookin’ for a man they want to give a job 
to, and happen to hit on you, why that’s an- 
other matter altogether. That’s about the way 
it stands, ain’t It, Nat? ” 

He spoke with thinly veiled Irony, but 
Rogers, relieved at this pleasant way of putting 
the situation, hastened to assent. “ Sure,” he 
agreed; “that’s just how ’tis, Tom,” and as If 
to re-assure himself, he repeated with a some- 


NAT ROGERS 


307 

what pitiful childishness, “ There ain’t no bar- 
gain to it at all.” 

Nickerson considered. “ What kind of a job 
will they give you, Nat? ” he queried. “ Some- 
thin’ pretty good? ” 

For the first time, Rogers looked him squarely 
in the eye, and the expression of his face was 
so eager, so bright with hope, that Nickerson 
felt no anger, but only pity. “ Good? ” he re- 
peated, “ I should say it was, Tom. Three 
thousand a year, an’ scarcely nothin’ to do at all. 
Why, see here, Tom,” and with a rush he 
hastened to unburden himself of all the thoughts 
and arguments that had been seething in his 
brain since Whitfield’s call of the night before. 
“ I got a right to think a little about myself. 
Here I be, fifty-five years old, an’ I been a haulin’ 
these old pots, steady, the whole of my life. 
Why, Tom, I’m fair sick of it. Sick of rotten 
bait, an’ poisoned hands; sick of calms in sum- 
mer and storms in winter; sick of goin’ home 
at night, with such an everlastin’ pain in my 
back that I can’t straighten up to walk like other 
folks does. But that ain’t all of it; if ’twas. 


PHAROS 


308 

maybe I could manage to stick it out a spell 
longer; but there’s my girl, Tom; I got her to 
think about. We don’t none of us last forever, 
an’ what am I goin’ to leave her, when I git 
through? Plaguey little; there ain’t no money 
in lobsters, Tom. An’ with t’other job, I c’n 
stay on shore ; ain’t never got to launch another 
skiff unless I darn please. An’ I ain’t doin’ 
nothin’ wrong, Tom ; ain’t doin’ no one no 
harm — ” 

Nickerson, listening to his defense, could read 
Whitfield’s skillful arguments between the lines, 
and could feel that his cause was almost lost. 
It was all so human — so natural — there was 
so much truth in all that Rogers had said. Only 
— there was the price. Money, and comfort, 
and the looking out for his little girl — and in 
exchange — here was the pity of it — a man’s 
self-respect, a soldier who had fought worthily 
deserting the standard, and laying down his 
arms. And Tom, though having to struggle 
against the New Englander’s reserve In speak- 
ing of serious things, yet girded himself for 
what he had to say. 


NAT ROGERS 


309 

“ Nat,” he began, “ we always been mighty 
good friends, an* that’s why I’m goin’ to ask you 
to listen to me now. I want you to remember 
just one thing, an’ ’twas your sayin’ that we 
don’t last forever that put it in my mind. 
Sometimes, I guess we’re so busy livin’ we don’t 
think about the dyin’ part at all. But just 
consider it, Nat You c’n vote for the road, 
an’ git your job, an’ you might leave your girl 
money enough so’s she could wear a silk dress, 
an’ hire a maid to do the cookin’, an’ maybe 
even go scootin’ ’round in a second-handed mo- 
tor car; but still folks would say, ‘ She’s the 
daughter of old Nat Rogers, that sold out to 
Whitfield, an’ voted for the road.’ That’s one 
thing you c’n do, Nat, an’ t’other is to vote ag’in 
the road, as you was meanin’ to, all along, an’ 
— you’ll have to go on as you be, an’ when you 
die, your girl might have to work her fingers 
to the bone ; but still folk’ll say, ‘ Who was her 
pa? Why, old Nat Rogers, that warn’t afraid 
to stand right up in his boots, an’ tell them Rail- 
road fellers they could go plumb to hell.’ I 
kinder think, Nat, that this whole business is 


PHAROS 


310 

more important than you ’magine ’tls. It’s the 
sort of thing every feller has to tackle ’bout once 
in his life — I reckon it’s meant that way. You 
will or you won’t — that’s all there is to it — 
but it means an awful lot, Nat An’ I hope 
you’ll think pretty serious, ’fore you go in with 
these fellers, ’cause if you do hitch up with ’em, 
I b’lieve you’re goin’ to be sorry for it, long as 
you live.” 

He paused, feeling that he had done his level 
best; but Rogers still clung stubbornly to his ar- 
gument. “ It ain’t sellin’ out, Tom,” he re- 
plied; “that’s where you’re wrong. There 
ain’t no trade,” and then, more aggressively, 
“ an’ I don’t see why you got a call to chase me 
way out here, an’ stop my haulin’, to preach to 
me; ’cause it’s my business, Tom, after all; an’ 
’tain’t yours nor no one else’s.” 

' Yet Nickerson was too much in earnest to be 
angered. “That ain’t quite so, Nat,” he re- 
turned patiently; “ it ain’t only yourself you’re 
hurtin’ when you go an’ do a thing like this. 
There’s two camps in the world, an’ I s’pose 
there always will be. A feller has to fight, to- 


NAT ROGERS 


311 

day, same as his great-great-granddaddy did. 
’Twas Britishers then. Now it’s fellers like 
Whitfield and his kind, that’s after money an’ 
things like that, ’stead of tryin’ to do what’s 
right. An’ every time a feller gives in to ’em, 
Nat, it’s just like he was firin’ on his own troops. 
You know how it’ll be, right here in Bayport. 
‘ Gee,’ they’ll say, ‘ we thought Nat Rogers 
was a hell of a good feller, but he ain’t.’ An’ 
someone else’ll think, ‘Well, I guess if Rogers 
did that, I ain’t got to be so pertic’lar ’bout 
things myself.’ So I wish you wouldn’t do it, 
Nat; I’d feel mighty pleased to have you stick. 
An’ I guess that’s ’bout all.” 

Rogers had been gazing fixedly out to sea; 
yet now, as if drawn by an irresistible power, he 
slowly turned his head until his eyes met Nick- 
erson’s. And strangely enough, for a man of 
his unimaginative nature, it seemed to him that 
the voice to which he had been listening was not 
the voice of the Nickerson he knew; and that 
in the bearded, patient, kindly face, there lurked 
a likeness to another face which in his child- 
hood had hung upon the wall of the room where 


312 


PHAROS 


he had slept and played. It may have been 
this remembrance that gave an added force to 
the simplicity of Nickerson’s appeal; but in any 
event Nat Rogers, as he heard, attained a de- 
tachment from himself and a breadth of view 
which he had never reached in his life before. 
And thus, standing apart, he surveyed, with all 
the philosophy he possessed, the past, the pres- 
ent and the future; and looking backward 
through the years, he knew that he had made 
mistakes; had sinned and repented, like his fel- 
low men; and yet, in all humility of mind, it 
appeared to him that in his own homely lan- 
guage, “ takin’ things by an’ large, he’d done 
pretty near right by folks.” So much for the 
past, but facing the present, the matter of the 
road was different. Argue, shift, dodge as he 
might, the man’s innate sense of honesty was too 
much for him. There was a wrong — perhaps 
to be glossed over — yet something apart from 
anything else he had yet done — his first de- 
liberate sin, risking the consequences for the re- 
ward. “ No, ’tain’t right,” was his unwilling 
conclusion, and yet — there was the future to 


NAT ROGERS 


313 

be reckoned with — those pleasant years ashore, 
the monthly pay envelope, the cessation from 
active toil, the balance in the bank — 

The sun shone down upon the glassy sea, and 
the smell of the rotting bait rose up and struck 
him like a blow, typifying the long, long years 
— all the dreary toil he would have to go 
through over and over again. He could see 
himself, going down hill with each succeeding 
season; could see the pots he would build, and 
head up, and brick, and rig, and set, and finally 
lose in some great gale; and his soul groaned. 
So he stood and thought, and there the two 
dories lay, two tiny specks on the broad sweep 
of sea, amid the vast silence, two men fighting 
the eternal struggle of right and wrong. And 
finally he turned to Nickerson. There was no 
rhetorical flourish — no magnificent words to go 
echoing down the ages — there was nothing of 
the orator or of the statesman about Nat 
Rogers. Nor did he renounce temptation with 
scorn and stern Indignation — it was far too 
real for that — and he put it from him, feeling 
that the chance of his life went with it. Yet 


PHAROS 


314 

for all that, the victory was his, and though it 
was with a heartfelt sigh, he said, “ All right, 
Tom; I’ll stick,” and then, though again the 
words lacked the heroic eloquence of the stage, 
he added, “ You’re a pretty darn good feller, 
Tom.” 

Nickerson drew a long breath of relief. 
“ Nat,” he responded with feeling, “ I’m mighty 
glad. I know it ain’t no cinch,” and with a 
quick return to the practical side of things, he 
asked, “ What are you goin’ to say to Whit- 
field?” 

Rogers sighed. “ Guess I won’t say nothin’ 
to him,” he replied somewhat petulantly; “ he’ll 
know what I’m doin’ when he hears me vote.” 

“ But he prob’ly expects you’re goin’ to vote 
for the road, don’t he?” Nickerson demurred, 
“ He’ll call you everythin’ under the sun, if you 
don’t let him know.” 

“Yes, I s’pose he will,” Rogers assented, 
“ an’ he can, for all I care. I ain’t goin’ chasin’ 
around after him, you bet.” 

Nickerson reflected. “Tell you what I’ll 
do,” he said at length; “we better go square 


NAT ROGERS 


315 

with these fellers, an’ give ’em no chance at any 
come-back at us. You write a line to Whitfield 
now, an’ tell him you’re goin’ to vote ag’in the 
road, an’ I’ll go back to the harbor, jump a 
train to town, an’ give it to him. Then he can’t 
say nothin’ against you, when it’s all over. 
Ain’t that the best way, Nat?” 

“ Well, maybe ’tis,” Rogers assented, though 
without any great show of spirit, but what c’n 
I write it on, Tom? ” 

Nickerson fumbled In his pocket. “ Here’s 
a pencil,” he answered, producing a stub, “ an’ 
here,” he added, tearing a piece of brown paper 
from the wrapping which enclosed his lunch, 
“ Is stuff to make a letter of. You just write a 
line tellln’ him what you’re goin’ to do, an’ 
that’ll settle things.” 

Rogers complied, folded the paper clumsily, 
and handed It across the dory’s rail. “ Hope 
they’ll keep away from me now,” he said; 
“ guess I’ve had about all the temptation racket 
I’m lookin’ for, for one while. I don’t want 
that smooth-tongued young Whitfield cornin’ 
foolin’ around me no more; I’ll tell you that.” 


PHAROS 


316 

His words awakened new thoughts in Nick- 
erson’s brain. “ Tell you what we’ll do, Nat,” 
he replied; “ we’re both in the same box on this 
thing, an’ we might as well keep each other 
company till it’s over. We ain’t but human, an’ 
I guess each one of us will feel easier to know 
the other feller’s standin’ by. You come 
stay with me to-night, an’ we’ll haul together 
to-morrow, so if they want to tackle us, they’ll 
have to take the pair of us to once.” 

“ That’s a good idea, Tom,” Rogers as- 
sented, but almost immediately added, “ How 
about my girl, though? I can’t leave her 
alone.” 

“ No, of course you can’t,” Nickerson re- 
sponded. “ I’ll stop an’ see her, on my way to 
town, an’ tell her to spend the night at Joe’s. 
An’ then I’ll stop at Joe’s, an’ tell him to ex- 
pect her. That’ll fix that all right.” 

Rogers nodded, evidently much relieved. 
“ Good again,” he commented. “ I’ll be at your 
place by supper time, Tom,” and with an anxious 
glance at the rapidly rising sun, he set to work 


NAT ROGERS 


317 

on his long string of pots, while Nickerson 
headed the dory’s bow for shore. 

As he churned smoothly along, his mind was 
filled with a medley of different thoughts. 
Nickerson, the idealist, was filled with joy at Nat 
Rogers’ triumph over himself; Nickerson, the 
practical man of affairs, dwelt with unrighteous 
satisfaction on the defeat of the Whitfields; and 
Nickerson, the human being, gazed about him 
at cloudless sky and unruffled sea with the feel- 
ing that he had come close to the stark, bare 
test of something brave and fine, that he was not 
poet enough to put in words. A half dozen 
times he tried to formulate his thought, and a 
half dozen times he failed; then, falling back 
upon the concrete instance, “Bully for Natl” 
said Tom Nickerson. 


CHAPTER XII 


STAUNTON WHITFIELD RESORTS TO FIRST 
PRINCIPLES 

S HORTLY after noon, the Honorable 
Staunton and his nephew sat closeted 
in the capitalist’s office. Billy looked 
tired and anxious, while his uncle, for once, had 
lost his expression of calm, and had now the ap- 
pearance of a man thoroughly aroused, fighting 
a hard fight, and with his mind bent on victory. 
Evidently, his nephew had not made sufficient 
progress to satisfy him, for as Billy concluded 
his story, he frowned and shook his head. “ A 
definite answer, William,” he observed, “ was 
what I wished. The time is too short for any 
more backing and filling. I hoped very much 
that you would succeed in obtaining a definite 
promise.” 

Billy had hard work to keep his temper. 
“ But that’s just what I couldn’t do, sir,” he re- 
318 


FIRST PRINCIPLES 


319 

plied; “ you know what these old fools of coun- 
trymen are like. If you ever ask them to meet 
you anywhere, at a certain time, they’ll never 
say they’ll be there. They’ll ‘ be there if 
nothin’ happens to prevent,’ or ‘ they’ll try to 
git around to it,’ but you can’t drag a promise 
out of them. And so when it comes to anything 
as important as this, you can imagine what old 
Rogers was like. He’d think it over, he said; 
he didn’t like to make up his mind in a hurry; 
and a lot of that sort of talk. But I’m pretty 
sure, sir,” he added, “ that we’ve got him. I 
could see how excited he was, though he tried 
his best not to show it. But when he picked up 
the lamp to see me out, his hand shook so that 
he nearly dropped it. I believe the more he 
thinks it over, the more he’ll feel disposed to 
accept. It’s just as you put it, sir; the man’s 
honest because he was never offered anything 
really good before. And you were right about 
his daughter, too. She’s a squint-eyed, frec- 
kled-faced little thing, with her hair in pig- 
tails, but old Rogers thinks the sun rises and 
sets on her. He made her play a piece for me 


PHAROS 


320 

on an old dishpan of a piano, and left me to go 
upstairs with her, to hear her say her prayers, 
and all that sort of bunk — ” he added thought- 
lessly. 

The Honorable Staunton gazed at him po- 
litely. “ I beg your pardon,’’ he remarked. 

Billy came suddenly to himself. “ I beg 
yours, sir,” he responded quickly; “slang, sir. 
I forgot myself. Prayer business was silly, 1 
meant ; you know ; rot — piffle — ” 

“ Ah, yes,” his uncle assented, “ I see. Well, 
William, as I say, we can’t delay on this. I 
think ril go to Bayport myself, and talk with 
this man. Of course, it’s a good sign that he’s 
considering the matter at all; if he were like 
Nickerson, we wouldn’t have got him even that 
far. Have you a time-table, William. Thanks. 
Yes — come in — ” he broke off, as a discreet 
knock sounded at the door, and a moment later 
Smith entered, glancing, in spite of his training, 
with poorly concealed curiosity at the singular 
missive which he held in the very ends of his 
fingers. “ A letter for Mr. William, sir,” he 
volunteered. “ The gentleman asked me to de- 


FIRST PRINCIPLES 


321 

liver It at once, or I shouldn’t have Interrupted 
you, sir.” 

The sheet of brown paper diffused a strong 
and mingled atmosphere of Its own, and its 
character left small doubt In Billy’s mind as to 
whence It came. He rose from his chair, and 
In his eagerness almost snatched the letter from 
the clerk’s hand, managing, however, to restrain 
his Impatience until the door had closed again. 
Then, with trembling fingers, he opened It, and 
with difficulty at length succeeded In decipher- 
ing Its contents. 

The effect upon him was positively electrical ; 
and for the first time In his life he forgot. In 
his uncle’s presence, that pose of humility and 
of decorous politeness which he had hitherto 
so scrupulously observed. With a sudden ges- 
ture, he crumpled the paper Into a ball, and 
hurled It Into the waste paper basket; then, more 
to himself than to his uncle, he cried In a voice 
high-pitched and quivering with emotion, “ Oh, 
damn that old Rogers ! Damn his mean, miser- 
able soul I There he goes back on everything 
— says he won’t vote for the road — oh, God, 


PHAROS 


322 

if I had him here for a minute — ” and he be- 
gan pacing up and down the office, fists clenched, 
his face crimsoning with anger. 

At any other time, the Honorable Staunton 
might have seen fit to administer a stern re- 
proof, but as it was, the situation itself was 
so acute that he had little time to consider the 
actors in it. “ What do you say? ” he queried 
sharply. “ Rogers won’t vote for the 
road?” 

“ No, sir,” Billy responded vehemently, “ the 
silly old fool. Though it’s not his doing; I’ll 
bet money on it. More than likely it’s some 
of Nickerson’s work. Oh, these farmers make 
me sick and tired — ” and he was preparing 
himself for another outburst when his uncle 
forestalled him. 

“One moment, William,” he observed; 
“ calm yourself, please, and give me your best 
attention. I have been prepared for something 
like this, all along; and though the situation is 
difficult, I think we shall still be able to meet it.” 

But for once Billy looked incredulous; for it 
seemed to him that a crisis like the present was 


FIRST PRINCIPLES 


323 

too much even for the Honorable Staunton. 
“ Well, I don’t see how,” he muttered. 

“ Then I’ll tell you,” was his uncle’s urbane 
response. “ You know, of course, that to-mor- 
row night is the final date on which the Select- 
men of Bayport may meet and express their 
disapproval of the road. Without the disap- 
proval of a majority of the Board, Bayport 
secures the franchise, and we are free to pro- 
ceed at once. That is clear, is it not?” 

“ Of course it is,” Billy replied, “ but I can’t 
see how that helps us out. I knew very well 
that old Wentworth was staying away to de- 
lay the meeting as long as he could; but what 
good does it do now? The Board’s been called 
together, and Nickerson and Rogers are going 
to vote against the road. There’s your major- 
ity, and we’re dished; that’s all there is to 
that.” 

In his disappointment, he spoke almost 
rudely; yet his uncle did not see fit to notice it. 
“ But suppose,” he suggested, “ for the sake of 
the argument, that Rogers shouldn’t be present 
at the meeting. Then the vote would be one to 


324 


PHAROS 


one; the necessary majority against the road 
would be lacking; and instead of being dished, 
as you express it, we should be in exactly the 
position we desire. It really hinges, I should 
say, on whether Rogers is there or not.” 

Billy stopped short in his tracks, and stared at 
the impassive face of the Honorable Staunton. 
Light was beginning to dawn upon him. 
“ Whether he’s there or not,” he repeated. 
“ Why, you don’t mean — ” 

He did not finish his sentence, and his uncle 
spared him the trouble. “ I mean just this,” 
he said, and his face was that of a man who 
will not accept defeat; “ I mean that you must 
get Rogers out of Bayport to-night. Find some 
good man to help you — Torella, for instance 
— go to Rogers’ house; gag him, blindfold 
him, tie him; carry him off somewhere and keep 
him there till the meeting’s over, and his chance 
to vote is gone. Then bring him back, and turn 
him loose in the dark again. He’ll never know 
who did it; no one will believe him, anyway; 
and — Bayport gets the road.” 

Billy could scarcely believe his ears. Yet 


FIRST PRINCIPLES 


325 

his uncle was clearly in earnest; and indeed, for 
the days of pirates and freebooters, the plan 
would have been an excellent one. But to try 
it now — Billy could see plenty of complications 
in the way. “ Wouldn’t it be illegal? ” he ven- 
tured. “ Aren’t there laws about force and 
duress, and all that sort of thing? ” 

The Honorable Staunton smiled grimly. 
“ In regard to that, William,” he replied, “ I 
have consulted eminent counsel, and I find that 
the legal aspect of the matter rather favors us 
than otherwise. In the first place, Rogers will 
be rather a discredited man in town, and we 
ought to find it an easy matter to soothe his 
feelings in some tactful way. But if not, it 
appears that the burden is on the town to show 
why a majority vote of the Selectmen was not 
recorded against the road, and even if we fail 
in adjusting things with Rogers, we can so de- 
lay and complicate matters by appeals and ex- 
ceptions that by the time the case is finally dis- 
posed of, he will have come up for re-election, 
and since he’s no fighter, like his friend Nick- 
erson, we should have no trouble in defeating 


PHAROS 


326 

him, and getting in a man favorable to our in- 
terests. So there is nothing to fear from the 
law, which somewhat curiously, William, ap- 
pears to be on our side.” 

With this disposed of, Billy turned his at- 
tention to a still more practical consideration. 
“ And if we’re caught? ” he asked. 

The capitalist shrugged his shoulders. “ Oh, 
anything at all,” he replied; “practical joke; 
temporary insanity; anything will serve. But 
let me tell you this, William,” he added, and 
his glance was hard and cold as steel, “ you 
don’t want to think about being caught. You 
need to have but one object in view; and that 
is to succeed. Men are judged by results, these 
days; the reasons for their failures don’t in- 
terest people in the least. And your record in 
Bayport, so far, William, has been conspicu- 
ously unsuccessful. You have failed in your 
fight for Selectman; failed to persuade Nicker- 
son; failed to win Rogers over to our side. 
This time, William, you must remember that 
another failure will seriously impair your pros- 
pects as a successful business man.” 


FIRST PRINCIPLES 


3^1 

Billy’s heart sank, for in plainer English, he 
could read a dismissal from his uncle’s employ. 
“ I’ll do my best, sir,” he responded, and left 
the office with a feeling of the gambler who 
stakes his fortune on the turn of a card. 

From the Bayport Station he went straight 
to Torella’s home, and there, closeted with 
“ Sarvy ” in the privacy of the woodshed, he 
made haste to put the situation before him. 
“We’ve got to do it,” he concluded; “there’s 
no other way. It won’t be hard, and it means 
a fifty dollar bill in your pocket. What do you 
say? ” 

Torella, without replying, sat stolidly look- 
ing into space, with no sign of animation on his 
fleshy countenance. “ Beats hell, don’t it,” he 
observed at last, “ how things can sometimes 
happen? ” 

Billy heard him with a foreboding of evil. 
“What do you mean?” he cried anxiously. 
“ What do you mean by the way things hap- 
pen? ” 

“I mean this,” Sarvy replied ponderously; 
“ I mean that Nat ain’t goln’ to be home to- 


328 PHAROS 

night. He’s goin’ to sleep over on the Island, 
at Nickerson’s.” 

Billy’s jaw dropped; his face grew white. 
“Good Lord!” he groaned; then added 
quickly. “How do you know he is, Sarvy? 
Are you sure? ” 

Torella nodded. “ Dead sure,” he re- 
sponded. “ I was over to the p’int, this noon, 
clammin’, an’ cornin’ home, I see Nat’s little 
girl settin’ on the doorsteps, cryin’ to beat the 
cars. Asked her what the matter was, an’ she 
says her pop warn’t cornin’ home to-night, so 
she’d got to sleep with Joe’s young ones, an’ 
she didn’t want to go there, ’cause they’re al- 
ways teasin’ her ’bout her freckles. So I asks 
her where her pa was goin’ to be, an’ she says 
over to Tom Nickerson’s, on the Island. An’ 
that,” he concluded, “ is why I say it beats 
hell how things can sometimes happen.” 

But Billy, though staggered by the news, still 
stuck to his guns. “ All right, then,” he cried, 
“ we’ll go to the Island for him. We can get 
him there just as well as we could at home.” 

Torella spat into the sawdust. “ Oh, yes,” 


FIRST PRINCIPLES 


329 


he retorted scathingly, “ like ducks we could. 
We’d make a noise, sure, an’ wake Tom up, an’ 
I’d as soon tackle a grizzly as I would Tom, 
when’s he mad. There’d be some new little 
faces in Heaven in the morning; I can tell you 
that, Mr. Whitfield.” 

Billy shivered, but stood firm; for with so 
much at stake, retreat was impossible. “ We’ll 
get him, just the same,” he insisted; “all we 
need is more help. You could find two or three 
good fellows, Sarvy. We won’t need them, 
probably, but if we should happen to wake up 
Nickerson, they could stand him off till we got 
Rogers away, and then they could soak him and 
run for it. Why isn’t that all right? ” 

Torella reflected. He saw a chance to do 
an excellent stroke of business, but he could see 
also the possibility of disaster. “Well, I don’t 
know, Mr. Whitfield,” he temporized; “I’m 
’fraid it’s pretty risky. We don’t want to get 
mixed up in no State’s Prison business, now do 
we?” 

Billy waxed more vehement still. “ Risk 
nothing,” he exclaimed; “ I tell you we’ve got to 


330 


PHAROS 


do it. If I don’t pull this off right, there’ll be 
hell to pay; and that’s no dream, either.” 

“Well, I don’t know,” Sarvy repeated; “I 
s’pose maybe w'e might manage it, but I’m 
’fraid the boys would want a lot of money — 
prob’ly more’n you’d feel like payin’.” 

Billy rose to the bait like a hungry fish. 
“ Money be damned,” he cried; “ I’ll pay ’em 
whatever they want. Fifty dollars apiece — a 
hundred. Whatever you say is right.” 

Sarvy, seeing the chance for a handsome 
“ rake-off ” for himself, listened with inward 
joy, yet managed to keep his head, and re- 
sponded without enthusiasm, “ Oh, I s’pose I 
might get some of the boys for a hundred, 
p’rhaps. Still, it’s an awful risk, an’ if I’m goin’ 
to find ’em, an’ boss the job, why I should think 
I ought to have an extra fifty for that.” 

“Sure thing,” Billy assented; “that’s fair. 
And now who can you get? We want good 
men.” 

Torella ruminated. “ First of all,” he an- 
nounced at length, “ I’ll get Buster Rafferty — ” 
But Billy broke in excitedly, “ Not on your life. 


FIRST PRINCIPLES 


331 

you won’t. Why, he’s as big as an elephant. 
He can’t get out of his own way. What good 
would he be in a fight?” 

Torella grinned. “ What do you think we’re 
goin’ to celebrate? ” he asked. “ Make a ring, 
an’ challenge Tom to a sparrin’ match? Not 
much. If there’s any fightin’ done, it’s goin’ to 
be good old rough an’ tumble, an’ that’s where 
weight’s apt to count. If Buster ever sits down 
on a man, it’s all off for that evenin’, now I tell 
you!* 

Before this display of superior knowledge, 
Billy yielded. “All right, then,” he agreed; 
“ who else? ” 

Torella pondered further. “ Pete Latenda,” 
he finally answered; “ he’s a nervy little cuss in 
a fight.” 

Billy frowned. He knew of Latenda’s repu- 
tation. “ He the man that knifed the sailor? ” 
he inquired. 

“ Sure,” Torella responded; “ that was good 
grit for you. He was goin’ for the sailor, an’ 
the feller stood him off with a revolver. So 
Pete drops his hands, an’ begins to laugh, makin’ 


332 


PHAROS 


a bluff ’twas all a joke; but the minute the feller 
turns his back an’ begins to walk off, Pete 
jumps on him from behind, an’ carves him up so 
bad he don’t leave the hospital for pretty near 
a month. Oh, Pete’s game, he is.” 

Billy felt a cold shudder running up his spine. 
“Well, tell him to leave his knife at home, this 
trip,” he cautioned; “ we don’t want any carving 
done.” 

“ Oh, no,” Sarvy assented; “ course we don’t. 
But if it comes to a mix-up, why he’s a valuable 
man to have along. He knows lots o’ cute lit- 
tle tricks to do a man up.” 

In spite of himself, Billy could not help feel- 
ing that he was getting into strange company. 
“Anyone else?” he queried. 

“ Well, one more wouldn’t do no harm,” 
Sarvy replied. “ I’ll try Jim Hunter; he ain’t 
particular what he does, so long as there’s 
money in it. That’ll be two to attend to Nat, 
an’ three more to look after Tom, if he butts 
in. I guess that’s good.” 

“ There’s the old man, too,” Billy reminded 
him, “ and confound it all,” he added, suddenly 


FIRST PRINCIPLES 


333 

remembering, “there are those damn pups. 
They’ll bark, I suppose, and spoil everything.” 

Torella shrugged his shoulders. “ The old 
man don’t count for much,” he answered, “ an’ 
as for the dogs, why we’ll have to trust to luck 
on them. Can’t have things built to order, as 
you might say. This ain’t no picnic party we’re 
goin’ on.” 

As he spoke, he pulled out his big silver 
watch, and rose quickly to his feet. “ Didn’t 
know it was so late,” he observed; “ I better get 
busy, right away. Where’ll we meet you, Mr. 
Whitfield? Why don’t we say Simmons’ Cove, 
t’other side o’ Whitehead? I’ll tell the fellers 
to come there, an’ I’ll row my dory ’round, soon 
as it gets dark. How’s that? ” 

“ Fine,” Billy answered; “ and how about dis- 
guising ourselves? Do we need masks? ” 
Torella shook his head. “ No, they’re no 
good,” he returned, “ sure to be in the way, an’ 
if there’s a fight, someone rips ’em off you, an’ 
sees who you are. Burnt cork’s the best; I’ll 
bring some along in the boat.” 

He departed, and Billy, waiting until he was 


PHAROS 


334 

out of sight, walked slowly back toward the vil- 
lage. Now that the plan had actually been set 
in motion, he felt a sense of the most unpleasant 
excitement. A sensation of guilt oppressed 
him, and from time to time he cast furtive 
glances over his shoulder, like a man in dread 
of pursuit. At dinner, moreover, he found that 
his appetite had forsaken him; and the inter- 
vening time before darkness came was the worst 
of all. At last, however, dusk fell over the 
village, and pulling his hat down over his eyes, 
Billy strode away in the direction of Simmons’ 
Cove. 

He found Rafferty already waiting; a mo- 
ment later, Latenda’s rat-like figure slunk to- 
ward them through the gloom; and after a 
longer wait, the ragged and disreputable Mr. 
Hunter made the party complete. Except for 
the barest greetings, no one seemed disposed 
toward conversation, and they stood in silence, 
on the top of the beach, until presently La- 
tenda observed, “ Here comes Sarvy.” 

Billy looked and listened, without perceiving 
any sign of Torella’s approach, until suddenly 


FIRST PRINCIPLES 


335 

the dory’s dim shape loomed up, close at hand. 
“ He’s muffled his oars,” Hunter whispered, 
and Billy felt his sense of unwholesome ex- 
citement increase. 

Torella stepped ashore. “All here?” he 
questioned, and drew from his pocket a flash- 
light and a number of smaller objects, which 
he hastened to distribute among the party. 
“ Rub on the cork, now,” he directed; “ I don’t 
need much, myself; I’m black enough, to start 
with, but I’ll keep you company,” and a mo- 
ment later the light flashed on as grimly ludi- 
crous a circle of faces as imagination could por- 
tray. Billy began to laugh hysterically. “ We 
look like a damn minstrel show,” he cried, but 
no one joined in his mirth, and Torella retorted, 
“ A devil of a minstrel show, if Tom Nicker- 
son ever gets after us. Come on now, every- 
body; it’s all dark on the Island; get into the 
dory, and for God’s sake, keep quiet.” 

There was small need of the injunction, and 
without a sound the boat crept out through the 
mouth of the cove. Billy, seated in the stern, 
had hard work to keep a grip on his nerves. 


PHAROS 


336 

His heart jumped and throbbed; the very slow- 
ness of the dory’s advance added to the strain; 
and it was a positive relief when the dim out- 
line of the Island came into view. Torella, tak- 
ing pains to avoid the pebbly beach, skirted the 
shore until they reached a long strip of rushes. 
These opened silently before the pressure of 
the dory’s bow, then closed behind her with 
scarcely a sound, and in a moment they were hid- 
den from sight, and were fairly within the 
enemy’s lines. 

Torella, who seemed to be the natural leader 
of the expedition, turned to the others. “ Now 
then,” he said, “ we’ve got to go at this right. 
The game’s to get hold of Nat without waking 
Tom or the old man. Pete was just saying, 
Mr. Whitfield,” he added, addressing Billy, 
“ that if he could once get into the room where 
Nat was without anyone’s hearing him, the 
easiest way would be to give Nat a little dose of 
chloroform. Not to hurt, you understand; just 
to stop him from making a row.” 

Billy, not without further misgivings, as- 
sented. “ All right,” he agreed; “ but how are 


FIRST PRINCIPLES 


337 

you going to know what room Rogers Is In? ” 
“We can’t tell, for sure,” Torella replied, 
“but we can make a pretty fair guess. Tom 
sleeps in the front room ; the old man sleeps up- 
stairs. There ain’t no spare room, an’ Nat 
bein’ one of these fellers that never wants to 
make trouble for no one, I imagine will be 
sleepin’ on a couch in the kitchen. Anyway, 
we’ll try it that way, an’ see how near we come.” 

“ Are we all goin’,” asked Hunter, “ or 
shall someone stay here to look after the 
boat?” 

Torella again addressed himself to Billy. 
“This is my idea, Mr. Whitfield,” he said: 
“ We’ll sneak up as far as the barn, an’ then all 
the rest of you, except me an’ Pete, will lay 
low, an’ watch what happens. We’ll go on up 
to the house, an’ make a try for Nat. If we 
get him, all right; if there’s a rumpus, you three 
fellers will have to mix in lively and ’tend to 
Tom, while we get Nat tied up and carried 
down to the boat. How’s that strike you? ” 

“ First rate,” Billy agreed, and forthwith the 
five advanced in single file, keeping to the shel- 


PHAROS 


338 

ter of the reeds, as long as they could, then 
crouching and stealing quietly along until they 
had reached the protection of the barn. Here 
they stopped, while Torella coiled the rope 
around his arm. “ All ready, Pete? ” he whis- 
pered. 

“ Walt a minute,” Latenda answered, “ till I 
get my shoes off. There,” he added a mo- 
ment later, “ now Pm all right,” and the two 
forms crept away toward the house. 

Billy watched them with a feeling of dread 
for which he could have given no explanation, 
yet feeling perfectly sure that something evil 
was to come of the venture. But there was 
small time left for speculation; the crisis was 
at hand. He could see the two figures pause 
at the door; then, evidently finding it locked, 
they passed on to a window. Here they re- 
mained, and presently, though Billy could hear 
no sound, he was aware that the smaller of the 
two had vanished into the shadow of the house. 
An instant later, and the second and larger 
figure had disappeared as well. There fol- 
lowed utter silence, and then, just as Billy was 


FIRST PRINCIPLES 


339 

beginning to think that all was going well, there 
broke forth, sharp and clear against the still- 
ness of the night, the very sound he had been 
dreading — the quick, frenzied barking of the 
dogs, and in another instant the house had 
awakened to a medley and tumult of sounds — 
shouts, cries, crash upon crash, as if the combat- 
ants were stumbling over the furniture of the 
kitchen — a shrill voice was shrieking, “ What’s 
the matter, Tom? What’s the matter?” and 
Nickerson’s deeper tones were audible, “ Get 
a light. Father; get a light,” while still another 
voice was crying, “ Help ! Murder I Help ! ” 
with a ghastly suggestion of violence and bodily 
injury. Then, almost before the three watchers 
at the barn could move from their concealment, 
the door of the kitchen burst suddenly outward, 
and a group of struggling figures, a confused 
blur in the darkness, came reeling forth into 
the night. 

Whether by accident, or of their own voli- 
tion, their course was toward the stable, until 
another figure, with the dogs barking at his 
heels, leaped forth and started in pursuit. 


340 


PHAROS 


“ Nickerson,” thought Billy to himself, with a 
gasp of dismay, and a second later the solitary 
warrior had overhauled the others; there was 
a moment’s struggle; then a yell of pain from 
someone, and then Torella’s voice, calling 
loudly, “ Come on, boys I Quick, now, quick I ” 

The summons had a varying effect on each 
member of the reenforcing troops. Hunter 
proved himself the fastest runner, but it was 
still the safety of the boat which seemed to be 
uppermost in his mind, for in spite of Billy’s 
indignant remonstrance, he bounded away, like 
a jack-rabbit, in the direction of the reeds. 
Rafferty, with the blood of Irish kings pulsing 
in his veins, lowered his head, and with a mighty 
roar, charged full upon Nickerson, while Billy, 
with the best of intentions, but wholly out of 
place in such an encounter, followed at his heels, 
scarcely knowing how or where he was expected 
to mingle in the fray. 

In the darkness. Indeed, it was hard to dis- 
tinguish friend from foe. Billy had a confused 
impression that Sarvy was crying, “ I’ve got 
Nat, boys; pile on to Tom”; the dogs were 


FIRST PRINCIPLES 


341 


leaping about, barking frantically; Nickerson 
was still calling for a light, until Rafferty closed 
with him, and his voice was no longer audible; 
and most curious and dream-like of all, a ghostly 
figure, clad in streaming white, seemed all at 
once to flit by them in the blackness, toward the 
barn. 

A moment later, as Billy’s brain grew some- 
what clearer, it was evident that the fortune of 
war was with the invaders. Rogers’ cries for 
help sounded faint and smothered, as if a strong 
hand were grasping his mouth, and Sarvy was 
hustling him rapidly away toward the reeds. 
On the ground, Rafferty was on top of Nicker- 
son, who was struggling desperately, and while 
Billy stood looking for an opportunity to join 
in the struggle, Latenda’s form slipped by him, 
and made straight for the combatants. His 
eyes were blazing, and Billy could see that blood 
was streaming down his face. With a bestial 
sound, half whine, half cry, he sank on his 
knees, feeling with his hands for Nickerson’s 
face. Billy gave a gasp of horror. ‘‘ No, no,” 
he screamed, and in the same instant. Nicker- 


342 


PHAROS 


son, in desperation, shouted to the dogs for 
help. “Take him. Emperor!” he cried 
hoarsely; “take him, Fluffy!” and his voice 
died in a choking gurgle, as Latenda’s fingers 
found his throat. 

And thus, upon the dogs, and upon one instant 
of time, hung the fate of the battle. And nobly 
did they meet the emergency, for in that one 
fateful second they heard, understood, and 
leaped bravely into the struggle. Fluffy, from 
in front, snapped at the Frenchman’s face, 
while Emperor, from the rear, fastened upon 
his naked foot, and the next second the sharp, 
white teeth met, almost to the bone. It was 
too much for human endurance. Latenda re- 
leased his hold, and with an oath turned sav- 
agely to shake off his assailant. There was one 
piteous yelp, then silence again, but that mo- 
ment was enough, and before Latenda could re- 
turn to his task, Nickerson was on his feet, and 
had closed again with Rafferty. Billy, in an 
agony of indecision, stood helpless, watching 
Latenda approach them from behind, biding his 
time to spring, but before he could do so, a 


FIRST PRINCIPLES 


343 


light shone out from the direction of the barn, 
and the same ghostly figure, now plainly hu- 
man, approached the group, an ancient lantern 
In one hand, a rusty pitchfork in the other. 
Perhaps old man Nickerson had engaged in 
similar contests In the bygone days of his youth, 
for his tactics were swift and decisive. Placing 
the lantern on the ground, he leaped silently 
forward, and with all his force, drove his 
weapon Into Latenda’s back. The tragicom- 
edy had changed to grim and deadly earnest. 
The Frenchman rolled, shrieking, on the ground, 
and at the same moment, Nickerson, wrench- 
ing free from Rafferty, landed a blow that sent 
the huge Irishman reeling backward, both hands 
clasped to his face. The tide of battle was 
turned, and Billy, only half conscious of what 
he was doing, picked Latenda up in his arms, 
and started for the reeds, with Rafferty at his 
heels. Behind them, Jim Nickerson shrieked, 
“Wait, Tom; I’ll get the gun,” and at the un- 
welcome sound they redoubled their speed. 
But before they had reached the reeds, they 
heard Tom’s voice, stern and menacing, “ Let 


344 


PHAROS 


Nat go, or I’ll shoot.” Torella, struggling 
along ahead of them, heard and heeded the 
warning. With a curse, he loosed his hold on 
Rogers, and in a mad scramble the invaders 
somehow launched the boat, and gave way des- 
perately at the oars. In the bottom of the 
dory, Latenda groaned and blasphemed; Raf- 
ferty, in the bow, wiped the grime of cork and 
blood from his face; Billy, pulling like a crazy 
man, felt that the end of the world had come. 
The last chance had failed; everything had gone 
wrong; perhaps a death would be at his door, 
for old Nickerson’s thrust had been a shrewd 
one, and Pete Latenda was not the man to give 
way as he was doing for anything short of a 
serious injury. And thus they headed their 
boat for the cove, disheartened, panic-stricken, 
and dismayed. 

Behind them, on the Island, Nickerson un- 
wound the rope from Rogers’ arms. The Se- 
lectman was pale and trembling, and half 
frightened out of his wits. “ I never done 
nothin’ to no one, Tom,” he kept repeating; “ I 
don’t see why they handled me so rough. I’m 


FIRST PRINCIPLES 


345 

all shook up; my heart’s goin’ like a trip-ham- 
mer.” 

Nickerson, making no answer, retraced his 
steps toward the house. Now that the danger 
was over, he felt physically faint and ill. By 
the light of the lantern, they found the old man, 
bending over something white on the ground. 
As he looked up at them, he brushed at his eyes 
with his hand, and his voice was unsteady. 
“ Look what they done. Tommy,” he mourned; 
“ look what they done.” 

In the flickering light. Emperor’s body lay 
outstretched upon the sand. His soft coat was 
dabbled with crimson, his bright eyes were 
closed forever. He had won his master’s fight, 
and this had been his reward. Nickerson 
picked the limp body up in his arms, and raised 
his eyes to the darkened Heavens. “ God,” he 
cried, “ If there’s justice in this world, I ask It 
for the man who did this thing. May your 
curse be on him, for the rest of his days ; may he 
be done by, as he has done this night.” 

His voice ceased; and the group slowly re- 
traced their steps toward the house. From far 


PHAROS 


346 

out on the water, the faint dip of oars came to 
their ears; but save for this, all was again si- 
lent over Bayport Harbor. 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE WAGES OF SIN 

O N the morning after the meeting of 
the Selectmen in the town hall, 
Billy Whitfield stood on the plat- 
form of the Bayport Station, awaiting the ar- 
rival of the train. Contrary to his usual cus- 
tom, he stood wholly apart from the crowd, and 
the expression on his face was morose and sub- 
dued. Inwardly, his wrath consumed him like 
a flaming furnace, and whenever the blaze 
burned low, he kindled it afresh from a store of 
bitter memories, with a running accompaniment 
of silent profanity which if it had become aud- 
ible, would have created a sensation on the Bay- 
port platform. 

Over and over again, as he had turned and 
tossed through the long, wakeful night, the 
events of the past twelve months had been pass- 
347 


PHAROS 


348 

ing through his mind. Certainly, there was 
little at which he could look back with pleasure. 
From the very first day, when his uncle had 
taken him into his confidence, things had seemed 
to go systematically wrong. He had seen fit to 
jump at a conclusion, and the result had been 
disaster. He recalled the eagerness with which 
he had purchased his Bayport & Southern stock, 
and the rapidity with which it had gone crash- 
ing downward, bringing shrinkage and disaster 
to his balance in the bank. Even more mad- 
dening had been his second loss, for here his 
guess had almost proved the right one. If 
every card in the pack of Fate had not lain 
against him, Bayport & Southern would have 
come into its own again, and Billy himself 
would have made a fortune. First had come 
the campaign for Selectman, lost by the margin 
of four votes ; then the failure to win over either 
Nickerson or Rogers to his side; and last of 
all, the miserable attempt at kidnapping Rogers, 
ending in crushing defeat. And now all was 
over. He had stood, the evening before, in 
the rear of the town hall; had heard Nicker- 


THE WAGES OF SIN 


349 


son and Rogers successively cast their votes 
against the road, transforming the certificates 
of Bayport & Southern into mere waste paper, 
for all time to come. Greenfield had secured 
the road; there remained only the last humilia- 
tion of being dismissed from his uncle’s office. 
And almost worse than his money losses, there 
was the sting of being beaten — and always in 
the same way. It was Nickerson who had con- 
fronted and thwarted him at every turn. 
“ Damn him,” he muttered, “ Pd like to even 
up with him. And I could do it, too, if I 
wanted to take a chance — ” and while he stood 
debating the question with himself, he heard 
Mr. Newcomb’s voice saying, “ Hullo, Tom, 
bound for town? ” and from the corner of his 
eye he could see that the man whom he wished 
to wrong was standing at his elbow. 

The Selectman’s face was grave; he held a 
telegram in his hand. “ Yes,” he answered, 
“ my father’s sick. He caught cold, night be- 
fore last, and I made him go to town yesterday 
to see the doctor. But when they came to look 
him over, they weren’t any too well pleased, so 


PHAROS 


350 

they sent him to the hospital, and told him he’d 
better stay there for a while. Fm going up to 
see how he is.” 

At his words, the thoughts which had been 
flashing through Billy’s brain took actual shape; 
by the time he had heard Nickerson say, “ No, 
I shan’t be back till late; Fve some business of 
my own to attend to,” he had made his resolve ; 
and when, a moment later, the train came 
thundering in, instead of mingling with the 
crowd which rushed for the steps, he turned 
on his heel, and walked away in the direction of 
the boat shop. 

Cy Perkins, the proprietor, looked up at him 
as he entered. ‘‘ Hullo, Mr. Whitfield,” he ob- 
served, “ I was cal’latin’ to take your launch in 
this afternoon. Ain’t in no hurry ’bout her, be 
ye? ” 

“ No,” Billy answered, “ that was what I 
came over to see you about. I think Fll take 
one more cruise in her. Start the engine for 
me, will you, while I go over to the hotel and 
change my clothes? ” 

An hour later, Edith Nickerson, busily en- 


THE WAGES OF SIN 


351 


gaged in restoring her disordered kitchen to a 
semblance of order, heard the throb of Billy’s 
launch, and looking out of the window, saw him 
come to anchor and start to row ashore in the 
skiff. The intervening time, though brief, was 
spent to advantage, and the girl who came to 
the door in answer to Whitfield’s knock had 
never looked prettier or more charming. So 
that at sight of her, Billy felt his pulses quicken, 
and though his lips asked the question, “ Want 
to go for a little sail?” the message in his eyes 
was a far different one. 

Whether she understood him or not, she 
showed no wish to decline. “ Oh, I’d love to 
go,” she answered, but at once added discon- 
tentedly, “ I suppose, though, I oughtn’t to 
leave the baby.” 

There was little force, however, to the words, 
and Billy hastened to make light of her objec- 
tion. “ Oh, nonsense,” he cried, “ he’ll be all 
right. Just lock him in the house till we come 
back. We won’t be gone long, anyway — out 
to the Seal Ledges and back. It’s a dandy day, 
and I’ve got a bully lunch along — bottle of fizz 


352 


PHAROS 


and everything. Regular city style. Come 
on, Edith, please; I’ll be awfully disappointed 
if you don’t. I gave up going to town, and all 
that, just to come over and see you. There’s a 
lot I want to talk to you about. Say, you might 
be nice to a fellow, Edith — ” 

He had drawn nearer to her as he spoke, and 
now she could not have failed to read the mean- 
ing in every look and gesture. For a moment 
she hesitated, then yielded. “ Well, all right,” 
she assented; “ wait here, please,” and she left 
the room, while Billy, a fierce sense of exulta- 
tion thrilling him, took a seat by the window, 
and sat gazing out over the quiet surface of the 
bay. He had never seen a more beautiful day, 
he thought again, though the sky seemed faintly 
overcast now, and around the horizon extended 
a curious brazen band, hard to define. The air 
was absolutely still. 

“ Great old morning for a sail,” he muttered 
to himself, and at the thought of Nickerson, 
speeding away toward the city, he smiled. 
Presently, as he sat waiting, there sounded be- 
hind him soft footfalls on the kitchen floor, and 


THE WAGES OF SIN 


353 


before he could turn, something moist touched 
his hand. He drew It quickly away, and look- 
ing down, saw that it was Fluffy, who was gazing 
up at him out of her big brown eyes, her tail 
wagging a tentative greeting. Billy’s smile 
changed to a frown. He had no desire to be 
reminded of the events of that night. “ Get 
out, damn you,” he muttered, and Fluffy, with 
drooping ears, retreated to her basket. 

Presently, from the next room, sounded a 
protesting wail, as if the baby were being 
awakened from sleep, and Billy could hear 
Edith’s voice seeking to pacify him. All in 
vain. The wail changed to a cry; the cry to a 
shriek; and presently Edith opened the door, 
her cheeks flushed, and called the dog to her. 
“ Here ! Get in there ! ” she commanded, 
pointing to the door; and then, to the baby, 
“ Now then, stop your crying and be good. 
You’re a bad, naughty boy. You can play with 
Fluffy till I come back. Now good-by; and be 
good.” 

She closed the door quickly, snapped the key 
in the lock, and turned to Whitfield, her expres- 


354 


PHAROS 


sion of assumed anger changing to a smile. 
“All right,” she whispered; “he’ll be good 
now. Come on,” and like two conspirators, 
they tiptoed softly across the kitchen floor. In 
the narrow passageway outside, Edith fumbled 
In the lock for the key, and as Billy hastened 
to help her, their hands met. On the Instant, 
flashes of electricity seemed to shoot through 
his whole being, and he reached toward her 
in the darkness, but with a glance backward to- 
ward the house, she repulsed him, whispering, 
“No, no, not here — ” and In whatever sense 
she meant the words, Whitfield chose to read In 
them a promise, and for the moment was con- 
tent. Presently the key snapped to, and they 
were on their way to the beach. At the margin 
of the shore, before stepping Into the skiff, 
Edith paused to listen; no sound was audible In 
the house. “ Good,” she said In a tone of re- 
lief; “he’s quiet now. I won’t have to worry 
about him at all.” 

“ Of course you won’t,” Billy laughed; “ he’s 
all right,” and rowing quickly to the launch, he 
boarded her, cranked his engine, and a moment 


THE WAGES OF SIN 


355 

later they were gliding smoothly away toward 
the distant Ledges. 

Billy stood at the wheel, steering, but as the 
shore receded, he paid less and less attention 
to his course, and more and more to his com- 
panion. “ Look here,” he said at length, “ Fm 
not going to do all the work. Come aft here, 
and I’ll teach you how to steer.” 

With a laugh, she rose and came slowly 
toward him. “Teach me what?” she asked. 

Her whole manner was one of provocation, 
and Billy had released his hold on the wheel, 
and had taken a quick step forward, when sud- 
denly her expression changed. “ No, no,” she 
cried; “ be careful. Look at the boat.” 

Billy stopped short, and casting a quick 
glance about him, turned back to the wheel. 
The Shag Rocks lay off their starboard beam, 
and close against the frowning sides of the 
ledge a fishing dory was anchored. Its occu- 
pant, a swarthy Portuguese, surveyed them with 
interest as they passed. Billy whistled under 
his breath. “ What do you know about thatf^* 
he observed. “ Lucky you saw him.” 


PHAROS 


356 

The girl was frowning. “ Oh, Isn’t that 
mean?” she exclaimed petulantly. “That’s 
Joe; the one that fishes so much with Tom. 
Now he’ll tell him, and I suppose there’ll be a 
scene. Oh, well,” she added defiantly, “ I don’t 
care. I’ll do as I please,” but In spite of her 
words, the Incident seemed to have a depressing 
effect upon her, and presently, with a glance at 
the distant Island, she murmured, “ I don’t be- 
lieve this Is going to be a lucky cruise. I hope 
the boy’s all right.” 

Billy’s face darkened In his turn. “ Oh, for 
Heaven’s sake,” he cried, “ can’t you think of 
something beside the kid? Of course he’s all 
right. Get your mind on someone else, for a 
change. If It Isn’t too hard work, get It on 
me. Don’t spoil a good time, Edith; life’s 
short. The boy’s probably happy as a clam, 
with no one to bother him.” 

His words appeared to reassure her. “ Yes, 
I suppose I’m foolish to worry,” she said, and 
the dory sped onward out to sea. 

Yet If Edith Nickerson’s eyes could have tra- 
versed the space between her and the shore, she 


THE WAGES OF SIN 


357 

would scarcely have continued so light-heartedly 
upon the voyage. For a time, after her de- 
parture, both boy and dog had resigned them- 
selves to their lot. Gradually the baby’s sobs 
had ceased, as the gentle Fluffy, with sympa- 
thetic tongue, had licked his hand to comfort 
him, and presently they were playing away to- 
gether as merrily as possible. Yet the four 
walls of the room made at best an unsatisfac- 
tory enclosure; and the thought of freedom 
soon became uppermost in their minds. First 
the child, standing on tiptoe, tried the door, 
while the dog sniffed and scratched at the crack 
above the threshold. These attempts natu- 
rally enough resulting in failure, they turned 
their attention elsewhere, and presently, the 
boy, shoving sturdily at the low window, was 
rewarded by the sound of a sharp click, far 
above his head, and a moment later, pushing 
upward as he had seen his mother do, gave a 
cry of joy as the sash ascended, and an avenue 
of escape lay ready at hand. 

Both together, they wriggled joyfully 
through, and made off together down the beach. 


PHAROS 


358 

the dog barking frenziedly, and racing around 
in wide circles over the sand, the boy laughing 
and crowing with delight at this unexpected re- 
lease. Before them, the broad flats, left bare 
by the ebbing tide, glistened in the sunlight; 
here and there, in the hollows, shallow pools 
lay waiting to be explored. Further out, low 
ledges, their sides brown with rockweed, fur- 
nished a point to aim for, and thither the boy 
toddled, smiling, and stretching out his hands. 
“ Pret-ty, pret-ty,” he cried softly, and then, 
as if suddenly remembering, he stopped short 
and listened. “ Muvver,” he called, but hearing 
no response, went on again. And when the 
ledges were reached, what a treasure house they 
proved. White barnacles lined their sides; in 
the puddles among the rockweed tiny minnows 
darted to and fro; crabs scurried away to hide; 
and Fluffy, investigating the depths of a minia- 
ture cavern, barked furiously at sight of the pro- 
jecting claw of some ancient giant of the lobster 
clan, and wisely enough decided on retreat. 
The sun rose higher and higher in the sky; the 
flats were warm and pleasant under its rays; and 


THE WAGES OF SIN 


359 

at last, with a sigh of happiness, the boy lay down 
upon the sand, his head pillowed on a cushion 
of rockweed. Fluffy curled herself beside him, 
and it was not long before both were fast 
asleep. 

In the meantime, far out at sea, the launch 
drew steadily nearer the Ledges. As they ap- 
proached, the seals scattered in alarm, and the 
sleek, shining bodies slid off, one by one, into 
the water, until presently on all sides of the 
boat their dog-like heads could be seen; rising 
and disappearing again in the waves. Billy 
made the launch fast to leeward, and landing, 
they picked out a broad natural shelf of rock, 
prepared the lunch, and ate and drank their 
fill. And here, alone on a bit of ledge — miles 
from land — with the blue waves lapping at 
the cliff below them — the white gulls soaring 
above — the warm sun enfolding them in its 
embrace — they talked of themselves and of 
their future; Billy’s tongue playing the old, 
hateful game; and with small pretext at love 
or romance, speaking grossly, almost in so 
many words, of bargain and of sale. For feel- 


PHAROS 


360 

ing that he understood this woman whom he 
desired, he saw no need of finer methods, and 
it was always of things that he spoke — of 
money, and what it could buy — of suppers, 
motors, clothes — and when the girl, shrinking 
not from the sin, but from the risk of its detec- 
tion, hesitated, he reassured her by telling her 
of the ease with which such matters could be 
arranged — of a flat in the city — of someone 
to look out for the boy while she was gone; 
until gradually, still filled with bitterest resent- 
ment against her husband, and thirsting for the 
“ fun ” to be so cheaply bought, she had yielded 
hand to hand, and lip to lip, until suddenly she 
wrenched herself free from Billy’s clasp. 
“ Listen ! ” she cried. “ What’s that? ” 

At her words, Billy had jumped to his feet 
with an exclamation of alarm, and now clam- 
bered hastily to the top of the rocks. One 
glance to windward was enough. Straight 
down from the North swept a solid wall of 
black, beneath it a gray curtain of driving rain, 
the sea a mass of leaping, boiling white, and 
audible above all else the mighty roaring of the 


THE WAGES OF SIN 361 

wind. In an instant, he had descended again. 
‘‘ A squall ! ” he cried. “ A hell of a squall ! 
What shall we do? Stay here, or take to the 
boat?” 

Her face went white. “ The boat,” she 
cried; “we can’t stay here. The rocks are 
covered at high water. The boat’s the only 
chance. Oh, why did I come?” 

Billy hauled the launch toward them with all 
the speed he possessed, jerked the anchor from 
the rocks, and in a twinkling both had jumped 
aboard. Instantly the boat paid off to leeward, 
before the first sharp puffs of wind, pitching 
and rolling, as the sea began to roughen. 
“ We’ll be all right,” Billy cried, and stooping, 
attempted to start the engine. But to his 
horror, there was no response. Again and 
again he tried, until his hands were a mass of 
blisters and his arms were aching, but always 
without success. And now a wave came flying 
over the rail; then another; and Billy motioned 
desperately toward the wheel. “ Keep her 
away,” he shouted; “ don’t let her get broad- 
side on.” 


PHAROS 


362 

The girl obeyed him, and not an instant too 
soon, for in another moment the storm had 
enveloped them, and the launch leaped for- 
ward at terrific speed, before the impact of wind 
and sea. Yet her course was parallel with the 
shore, not toward it, and it was plain that if 
she continued as she was going, they would be 
swept miles to leeward of Bayport. All Edith’s 
courage was gone. Limp, bedraggled, buffeted 
by the wind and the rain, she crouched trembling 
in the stern. “ Oh, why can’t you make her 
go ? ” she wailed. “ Why did you make me 
come? ” 

Billy gritted his teeth; the storm had greatly 
cooled his ardor; and he could scarcely realize 
that it was this whimpering, snivelling woman 
whom he had so longed for such a short time 
ago. So that finally, as she continued to revile 
him, he rose to his knees, face and hands 
streaked with oil, grimy, unlovely to look upon, 
and swore roundly at her. “ Shut up ! ” he 
cried fiercely; “ damn you, shut up! ” and then, 
putting all further thought of her from his 
mind, he set to work, with a calmness born of 


THE WAGES OF SIN 363 

desperation, to think of every possible ailment 
which the engine might have contracted. First 
he tried one thing, then another, until at last, 
to his Infinite relief, there came an explosion, 
faint and muffled, to be sure, but still the first 
sign that the machinery was in working order; 
and thus encouraged, he cranked like a demon, 
until a steady, regular throb rewarded him, and 
stepping hastily aft, he headed the launch for 
home. Immediately, however, he saw the utter 
Impossibility of pursuing such a course, for sea 
after sea came crashing Into them, full abeam, 
and reluctantly he paid her off once more. 
“What shall we do?” he cried. “We can’t 
make the Island that way.” 

With the starting of the engine, the girl’s 
self-possession had in part returned. “ You 
can head for the creek, down beyond the point,” 
she answered, “ and then we can get back to 
the Island through the channel in the marsh. 
It will take longer, of course, but It’s the only 
way.” 

Billy nodded, and glanced covertly at his 
watch. The shore was scarcely visible, and It 


PHAROS 


364 

did not seem that they could reach the Island 
before dark. Yet perhaps, he reflected, the ad- 
vantage was after all upon his side. Apart 
from physical violence, he had nothing to fear, 
and to see his wife coming home in such a 
plight might cause Nickerson an added pang. 
And thus he kept the launch on her course, and 
after what seemed an eternity, rounded the 
point by the cliffs, and started back through the 
winding channel in the marsh. The rain had 
ceased, but the wind blew more fiercely than 
ever, and the chill of it, as it now struck fairly 
in their faces and whistled through their rain- 
soaked garments, made their discomfort seem 
doubly keen. They sat in absolute silence, and 
the thoughts of either could scarcely have 
been more bitter or morose. “ This is a hell 
of a note,^’ Billy reflected; “ I might have known 
how it would end. Just like everything else 
in the whole blamed business. It’s been a hoo- 
doo, from start to finish,” while Edith Nicker- 
son, cowering under the hood, and shivering 
with cold, could not rid her mind of a picture 
of the boy and the dog, as the storm howled 


THE WAGES OF SIN 365 

around the house, and the shadows lengthened 
across the room. “ He’ll be frightened,” she 
thought miserably to herself, and with a sudden 
revulsion of feeling, she thought with loathing 
of this man who had cursed her, comparing him 
with her husband, patient, kindly, brave; and 
all at once, a great regret smote her to the 
heart, and she saw herself as she was. Rising 
quickly to her feet, her eyes sought the dim 
outline of the Island, looming black against the 
sky, and instinctively she clasped her hands to- 
gether. “ Oh, God,” she prayed, “ forgive me. 
I’ll do better; indeed I will.” 

For almost an hour, boy and dog had slept 
together, until at length, as the mutterings of 
the storm increased. Fluffy awoke, sniffed the 
air, looked around her, and feeling instinctively 
that something was wrong, began whining anx- 
iously and looking toward the shore. But the 
boy, tired out, slept on, and it was not until 
the dog resorted to vigorous tugging at his 
dress that he awoke in his turn, and after a 
moment’s bewilderment, suddenly remembered 
where he was, and struggled to his feet. The 


PHAROS 


366 

tide, no longer on the ebb, had turned, and 
the waves came creeping in with ever quicken- 
ing speed as the wind from the north swept 
them shoreward across the bay. Around each 
side of the rock crept a line of water, and pres- 
ently, as they converged, the baby looked down 
and saw them meeting at his feet. Instantly he 
laughed with delight; for here was a new and 
delightful game, and he splashed gaily about 
among the ripples, while the dog, with greater 
wisdom, ran on ahead, barking and trying to 
entice him to follow her. He did so, indeed, 
but slowly and unwillingly, charmed with the 
excitement of the adventure, until the water, ris- 
ing more and more rapidly, made him look 
about him in wonder; and then all at once, with 
a rush of rain and a roar of wind, the storm 
swept down upon the marsh. For an instant, 
the boy’s lip quivered, and he glanced toward 
the ledges to find his friend. “ F’uffy ! F’uffy ! ” 
he called despairingly, but the dog had done her 
utmost, and now, panic-stricken, was fleeing for 
dear life toward the shore. And as he started to 
follow, suddenly the flats had vanished, and 


THE WAGES OF SIN 


367 


there was nothing about him but a leaping sea. 
A great wave, waist high, hurled itself against 
him, nearly sweeping him from his feet, yet he 
struggled bravely on, his golden curls flying in 
the wind, his white dress clinging to his baby 
form, his hands outstretched imploringly before 
him. Then another wave — and another — 
and he spent his last strength in one imploring 
cry, “Oh, daddy, daddy!” Before him, the 
sand sloped downward into a treacherous hol- 
low; he reached it; the baby feet slipped, and he 
fell. 


CHAPTER XIV 


PHAROS 

I T was mid-afternoon when Nickerson 
swung off the train at the Bayport Sta- 
tion, glancing anxiously up at the lower- 
ing sky, and quickening his pace as he strode 
along toward the harbor. The change from 
the beauty of the morning was absolute. The 
sunshine was gone; the clouds were dark and 
threatening; and although It still lacked an 
hour of sunset, nightfall seemed already close 
at hand. Even through the sheltered streets 
the wind blew savagely, and Nickerson shook 
his head. “ Bad chance for the gear,” he mut- 
tered, “ I wish ’twas all ashore.” Then, with 
an attempt at cheerfulness, he added, “ Maybe 
it Isn’t blowing so hard, though, after all. 
Probably it’s the change from morning makes 
It seem worse than It really Is.” 

As he neared the harbor, however, it became 

368 


PHAROS 369 

evident that the storm was even more severe 
than he had feared. The boats, anchored in 
the lee of the point, were pitching and rolling 
mightily, as they strained at their cables, while 
out at sea the old, familiar lines of white were 
sweeping shoreward across the bay. Nicker- 
son shrugged his shoulders. “ This is a bad 
one,” he said; “might as well say good-by to 
thirty or forty pots, for sure. And it’s going 
to be a stiff row to the Island, too. I can never 
make it in the skiff; I’ll have to take the dory.” 

As he spoke, he pushed his boat from the 
float-stage, and gave way strongly for his moor- 
ings.- About , him, the remainder of the fleet, 
lashed doubly fast, with their hoods pulled back 
over their engines, gave to the harbor a deserted 
and storm-ridden air. Only Joe, his oilskins 
glistening and dripping with spray, was just 
leaving his dory for the night, and as Tom 
stepped aboard the Edith Nickerson, he 
pulled alongside in his skiff, and grasped the 
dory’s rail. 

Tom hailed him jovially, as he approached. 
“ Say,” he cried, “ you must like rough water 


PHAROS 


370 

awful well. Mean to tell me you’ve been tryin’ 
to haul in a time like this? ” 

But Joe paid no heed to what he was saying. 
His grave face was more than usually stern. 
“ Tom,” he said, “ I just come from your place. 
An’ Fm ’fraid your folks is in trouble.” 

“What do you mean?” asked Nickerson 
quickly. “Are they sick?” 

Joe shook his head. “ No, ’tain’t that,” he 
answered, “ but young Whitfield come by me, 
’bout ’leven o’clock this mornin’, out by the 
Shags, in that gingerbread launch o’ his, an’ — 
I ain’t tryin’ to make no trouble, Tom — but 
he had Edie ’long with him. An’ they ain’t 
come back.” 

For an instant Nickerson stood gazing at him, 
a great fear clutching at his heart; then cast a 
quick glance out to sea. But immediately he 
turned once more to his friend. “ The boy? ” 
he cried. “ Did she have the boy along? ” 

“ Must have,” Joe answered, “ ’cause there’s 
no one home. Door’s locked tight; an’ I 
yelled, an’ no one answered. So I s’pose they 
must have took him along, too.” 


PHAROS 


371 

Without a word, Nickerson tried his engine; 
then leaped forward, as if to cast off. Joe 
watched him with alarm. “ Tom,” he cried, 
‘‘you ain’t goin’ out there? You can’t live in 
that sea — never in the world.” 

Nickerson had come aft again, and now his 
answer was the same as he had made a year ago, 
on the night when they had gone torching for 
the herring. “ I can make it,” he replied; “ let 
go the dory, Joe.” 

Surado hesitated. There was but an in- 
stant for decision. He knew the risk — knew 
that the chance was ten to one against them — 
knew that wife and children were waiting for 
him in the cottage on the point. Yet Tom 
Nickerson was his friend, with whom he had 
fought the sea, shoulder to shoulder, all these 
long years. And thus, without a word, he rose 
to his feet and gripped the dory’s rail, to leap 
aboard. 

But Nickerson was too quick for him. As 
well as his mate, he knew the task that lay be- 
fore him, and starting the engine, he reached 
the rail in one bound, and grasped Joe by the 


372 


PHAROS 


shoulders, shoving him toward the skiff. “ Get 
back, Joe,’’ he cried; “I’ll make this cruise 
alone.” 

There was a moment’s battle, as eager and 
fierce as if it had been prompted by enmity in- 
stead of sacrifice, while the dory, lacking a 
helmsman, staggered aimlessly across the har- 
bor, until Tom, feeling the struggle going 
against him, drew a quick breath, as if nerving 
himself for what he had to do; then, drawing 
back his fist, struck his friend full in the face, and 
dazed with the pain and the surprise, Surado 
reeled and fell headlong in the bottom of the 
skiff. An instant later, and Nickerson had 
grasped the wheel, and the dory, swinging on 
her course, with the spray dashing over her in 
clouds, had started on her voyage. 

As he passed the Island, Tom cast a quick 
glance toward his home. As Joe had said, 
everything was dark, and the outline of the 
cottage could scarcely be distinguished against 
the cloud-swept sky, and the black void of the 
marsh beyond. With lips compressed, and 


PHAROS 


373 

heart benumbed with anguish, he turned again 
toward the open sea. 

And now he had come to the point of Gull 
Ledge, and must leave its friendly shelter be- 
hind him. To the westward, he could see the 
lights of the village, looming faintly through 
the mist; before him stretched the waste of 
storm-tossed waves. And as he cleared the 
Ledge, and the great seas came sweeping down 
upon him, he rose quickly to his feet, dashed his 
sou’wester from his head, and standing there, 
stalwart, brave and resourceful, every inch a 
man, he raised his face to the sky. “ God,” 
he prayed, “ bring me there safe,” and after 
a moment, as if fearful lest he should be mis- 
understood, he added, “ ’Tain’t for me I’m 
askin’ it; I ain’t afraid o’ nothin’. It’s for 
Edie an’ the boy ” ; and with the dory’s bow 
pointed toward the distant ledges, he held her 
on her course. 

Back in the harbor, Joe had rowed hastily 
ashore, and scaling the summit of Whitehead, 
stood gazing out to sea, shading his eyes with 


374 


PHAROS 


his hand. From time to time, though the 
dory’s dark shape was scarcely visible, he could 
see the clouds of spray which marked her course ; 
but suddenly, as his eyes wandered toward the 
Island, he gave a gasp of amazement, for an- 
other boat, her white hull conspicuous against 
the background of the marsh, was slowly ap- 
proaching from the eastward, under the shelter 
of the land. “ The launch ! ” he cried ; “ they’re 
saved.” And then, though knowing it was too 
late, he turned again toward the dory. “ If 
he could only see them,” he groaned, and as 
though Nickerson could have heard him above 
the tumult of the storm, he shouted, “Tom! 
Look behind you 1 Look!” 

But Nickerson, gazing steadfastly before 
him, was fighting his way, inch by inch, into the 
very teeth of the gale — creeping on and on, 
with but one thought uppermost in his mind — 
to reach the Ledges, and to find the launch there, 
safely anchored in the lee. And now, as the 
darkness deepened, more and more fiercely blew 
the wind; rougher and rougher grew the sea; 
and Joe, despairing, at last abandoned hope. 


PHAROS 


375 


“He’ll never make it,” he muttered; “never 
in the world,” and then, raising his eyes to the 
heavens, he cried accusingly, “ ’Tain’t right, 
God; ’tain’t fair; he never done no wrong.” 

Around him, the drunken wind shrieked, 
rioting. Against the cliffs below, the breakers 
crashed and foamed, like madmen escaped from 
their chains. Above him, the storm clouds, in 
strange, contorted shapes, streamed, in vast 
procession, athwart the sky. And now, as he 
cast one last glance seaward — whether because 
of the darkness, or because some huge wave 
had overwhelmed her, he could not tell — the 
dory was no longer to be seen. Everywhere 
darkness, over all the world. Only, from 
where the great stone lighthouse reared itself 
amid the flood, the gleam of the beacon still 
flashed across the night — serene and undis- 
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